The Warm Touch of Hope
by WishMaker7
Summary: It is the Easter Bunny's job to preserve hope. But once a new sprite – one the Man in the Moon has his eyes out for, no less – falls to the darkness, to fear, it is his job, more so than any other Guardian, to restore the warmth in his cold heart. Blackice, and eventual Frostbunny. Now rated M, and will update liberally. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Chapter 6 now posted.
1. Chapter 1

**A Note from me:** When I say 'reviewers are saints,' I mean that in a way to say: reviewers _save the story_, since I have a tendency to lose hope/interest in stories that I initially write, it makes it very difficult, and makes myself very self-conscious after the first chapter is posted. Like every human being, I thrive on positive criticism and yearn for constructive criticism. So I ask you, reader, very humbly, that you leave a thought in for my story, so I may better myself and forge onward.

A quick motion to note is that, unlike other stories, this one does not have a clear plot. And, to the positive, it means that I won't tire of the story very soon. But, as a negative, it means that it will update rather sporadically, as interest comes to it, or as an idea on how to advance the plot comes. This also means that, as my brain hits dead-ends on how to advance the story comes, hiatuses will also. So, expect me to stay to this story, and keep an interest in it, but also please try to understand its ups-and-downs.

Thank you,

WishMaker7

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

There are usually very little souls in the Antarctic. Usually very little children to preserve hope, wonder, joy… and that was just as one spirit contented. He was a winter spirit, wandering aimlessly for centuries now, his cornflower hoodie pulled over his snowy hair, no amount of chilled breeze enough to make him quiver, and that was just as he was used to.

At the edge of one powder-coated cliff, he sat down, sighed; his bare feet digging their digits into the snow, now like a child burying their feet into sand by a beach. Except here, there was no beach. Only ice and frost. Only emptiness.

Though one could never truly say Jack Frost was capable of feeling cold, he would be quick to protest… if there were ever a soul to protest to. He did feel cold, though not on the outside, against his alabaster skin, but on the inside; every ounce of his heart beating a chilled absence through his veins, enough to send bumps up his back, against his arms. Years upon years he'd accumulated, no longer as a human, but a spirit, and yet in all of those years, his hopes of being seen fluttered from his frigid heart, as attempt after attempt for a child to say his name and believe have been snuffed out. In his mind, snow-covered children played innocently around him, eyes of bliss and frost, throwing snow upon each-other, every flake of snow made by his hand, every snowball left without an illustrator acknowledged.

So he left himself alone. Far alone, in the deepest, coldest part of the Earth, where no child could ever believe in him, or disbelieve.

He brought his knees close to his chest, cloaked in the brown pants he'd woken up with. There was no use in crying anymore, no use in feeling sorry for himself. But it was as though there was no use in trying anymore either, no use for one last-ditch effort. He'd tried that one too many times. Surely, he was a spirit! He should keep his head up; but as many times as the words to do so circled in his head, just as many times he was reminded that there was no-one out there to believe in him, and his hope waned. He remained as he was. He sighed; with his wooden crook close at hand, he made a few snowflakes aimlessly, watched them flow in the breeze. From the cliff, they fluttered off into the sunset, glowed ardently across the rising sun, and drifted away, out to the beyond, out to the world… where, at least, they'd be seen, by one life or another.

Jack Frost's life as a sprite had been filled with hope and promise. Very often, earlier in his life, he would try to fill the lives of the children with happiness and fun, with the promise of snow days and blizzards, his snowballs able to bring about the playfulness and willingness in the children he'd surrounded himself with. He would lead children on sled races, through villages, cities, around construction… _anything_ to bring a touch of joy to a lonely child… But now, almost five hundred years past that time, his hope of being seen – being felt and loved – flaked away, froze his heart, moved his body to the lifeless southern pole. He had always been there to bring joy to a lonely child, but there was never a soul to bring joy to a lonely sprite.

Despite the fact that he claimed he wouldn't internally, his eyes pricked with cold tears, his mind racing with the memories of the children he'd brought sheer ecstasy to, and how often he was turned away, despite his efforts, his trying. For five hundred years, he'd tried to preserve his hope, ignored his own satisfaction of being believed in to make the children happy. But there was no end. He wept.

"Now, now, Jack…" The snow grew black in whips, beams of darkness tracing around the disheartened winter spirit like snakes cornered by a predator, yet glittering radiantly against the sunlight. They encircled him, and the snowy-haired sprite, with a gasp, eyes small, dared to turn an ocean-blue eye to meet the maker, crook glowing a bright blue, flushing with a sprits of snow crystals, ready to attack should the need come.

The wisps of darkness met jointly to a pool of ebony ink, rising tall to form a man, clothed only in impenetrable black, with a name matching to fit: Pitch Black. He smiled softly, though sinisterly, at the spirit. "No need for tears." Although he would have preferred to look sincere, the ill-will of his intentions bested the falsehood of his smile. He took a bow for the wandering winter soul. "And no need to aim that staff at me either, child." He waggled a finger patronizingly, body bent slightly forward just so, as if giving a lecture. From the wisps snaking beneath him, darkling creatures formed from the shadows, eyes glowing yellow and malicious; Fearlings surrounded the winter spirit.

Jack's eyebrows furrowed in worry, rising, and he shifted around to get a good view of all the creatures surrounding him. Skinny things, they were, with slender bodies – taller than him, no doubt – and cold expressions; long, spectral claws were outstretched, ready to tug or grip or tear at any part of the spirit they, in mass numbers, surrounded. He gasped softly as the Nightmare King – eradicator of happiness, devourer of hope, who feasts upon fear – drew a hand out in a halt, whereby those hundreds upon hundreds of horror-terror creatures obeyed thusly. They drew away.

Oceans of eyes fixed on the gray-pale hand, then slowly moved up to its owner, and Jack was trembling; ever-so subtly, he was trembling, his breath misting out as vapor upon each passing gasp. He backed up slowly, his bare feet crunching against the snow.

"You don't need to be afraid of me, Jack." Pitch stated simply, smiling, his arms folded behind his back. The sprite remained silent. "After all, we're a lot alike, you and I."

The snow-haired male glanced away, his brain wracking with the possibility of hidden motives in Pitch Black's words. After all, the man was the admiral of darkness; what could he possibly want with a lowly, lonely sprite such as Jack? "What… What do you mean…?" He asked hesitantly, shaky with chill, a snap of fear snaking down his spine, his voice an uncertain baritone.

Pitch chuckled richly at this, his accent a thick English as he spoke, as he had always. "So he speaks." He smiled a crooked smile. "What I mean by that, little spirit, is that I know what it's like." Jack made to question, but Pitch forged on, answering his question thereafter, "I know what it's like not to be believed in." His voice entered a whisper, low and dramatic, almost as though a secret.

Jack glanced up, eyes locking with the golden yellow. He attempted to shrug off the statement, as though it didn't mean anything to him. "So what?"

"So what, Jack? _So what_? So what if I'm not seen by any passing soul? So what if, every time I try amusing them, amusing myself, satisfying anyone, they blow me off and worry about Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny, wonder what the Tooth Fairy is going to leave for them under their pillow?" He gave a single wry laugh. "The minute you mention 'the Boogeyman' or 'Jack Frost,' they're just a figment. There is no-one to preserve fear, as if every day a child lives is one of bliss and without a single ounce of negativity. There's no explanation for those wonderful snow days, no wonder why a simple toss of a snowball can bring so much joy to a child, provoke them to enjoy the winter and snow you bring them. They take it for granted, Jack – you and I – they take us _all_ for granted. We're never seen, never felt. Never enjoyed or cherished. We're forgotten, empty." And even as dark as Pitch Black was, there was a tinge of sorrow in his voice. "Lonely."

The winter sprite's expression softened, his crook lowered. "But why…? Why should I come with you? You're… You're darkness."

"And what is light without darkness, Jack? It's nothing."

"You'll hurt them. Even though I left them – the children – I never… never want to hurt them. They never did anything wrong."

"Never did? You're telling me that their belief in North is as the same level as their belief in us? That the fact that they continue to believe in the highlight of winter, but never the harbinger?" He cried out, laughing sarcastically in almost a pant. "You're saying that's fair that they can feel the Easter Bunny's fur, touch a feather on the Tooth Fairy, and yet they simply _walk right through us?_"

Jack hesitated. "N-No…"

Pitch's voice gained urgency. "Besides, what goes together better than cold and dark? Imagine the things we can create, the gateways to sprites tossed aside we can open! Imagine the possibilities, Jack; imagine how children will see you, how they'll finally believe in all of those souls left asunder. We can join them together."

"But the children –"

"– Can believe in something new. They'll mature faster, Jack, learning to cope with negativity. They'll cherish happiness so much more; they'll never take it for granted again, never take us for granted again." Jack's eyebrows furrowed, bit his lower lip, twisted his crook around a few times. He was scared, scared to hurt the innocent children in the end. "You realize… I need you, Jack. I've never… never been so close to someone like me. I've never seen another spirit feeling the way I do. Someone cast aside, left to rot in emptiness… I _need_ you." His yellow eyes were pleading. Behind the piercing gold was true sadness, true need. He dared to move closer to the winter spirit, and although Jack took one step back, his crystal eyes met liquid amber, and Pitch tentatively took Jack's naked, frigid, pale hand in both his grays, rubbing it gently with one of his thumbs. At this, the Fearlings finally ceased, escaping back into the pool of dark surrounding Pitch, replacing with a simple shadow. "Please, Jack. Please… Please help me."

The blue-eyed spirit gasped softly at the gesture, overwhelming pity and sympathy emitting towards the darkling spirit. His dark eyebrows were knit, confused. What if this was all a hoax? What if the King of Nightmares was to use him? But even with all of the ill-will preceding the black spirit, Jack couldn't shake the touches of sincerity, couldn't deny the possibility of being believed in, never being lonely again. He sighed, nodded slowly, "I… I'll help you, Pitch."

* * *

The warren was filled to the brim with untouched goodies. Every egg in every inch of the grassy land begging for candy in their mouths, for color to be painted upon them, for a stash-away spot in a backyard, a shoe, a fan, and a child to find them to lift up that child's spirits. And even though the previous Easter hadn't passed too long ago, there was not a single way the Bunny in charge was going to fall unprepared for the one upcoming. He would work tirelessly, except, of course, when hibernating season came around (which conveniently happened to be the same time as his natural, animalistic hibernation), to which he'd rest as such.

The Guardian of Hope was well at work getting the primary paint flowered onto each egg, every single one waddling over to one station or the next, ready for their permanent look to be bestowed onto them for later. Bunny was usually not so uptight about transitioning from one Easter to the next, but, this year, he was feeling particularly stickler, since last Easter was almost missed due to his negligence. He promised himself, the children, and every other resident of the warren – warrior egg, walking egg, bunny, chick, paint flower, river and all – that this would never happen again.

As he was delicately painting an intricate design on an egg, his ears perked up; a feeling resonated against each hair follicle along his inner ear, sent a wave of disturbance through his heart. A child was losing hope. The Easter Bunny set the sentient egg delicately onto its feet, allowing it to scuttle away, as his great ashen ears, cloaked in fur, attuned to the exact spot of the distress. He thumped the ground twice – made to make a rabbit hole sent straight to the spot – but just as he did so, an aurora cast across the scape of the sky. It was the Call of the Guardians, made from the Aurora Borealis.

Bunny groaned. "Oh, love a duck…" And although he wanted to find the source of this emptiness – this lack of hope – his duties called for otherwise. With a moment of hesitation, spent glaring angrily at the timing of the aurora, he resealed the hole, created another. This time, the destination was set for the North Pole. The child would have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

Despite the fact that the child would have to wait, that didn't mean that preparations for next Easter did also. As E. Aster Bunnymund entered into the slightly-warmer abode of the toy maker (at least, rather than the frigid conditions outside; Bunny's back paws were still numb and raw as he came in), he was far from amused, as amusement is hardly an event that flits by him anymore, or so he'd like to believe. "So you call me up here now, mate, when I have millions upon _millions_ of eggs to make? If I ain't comin' here for any good reason, I've got a job to do, meaning if you don't mind, a'course." The polite gesture at the end was not said with its humble intention; he sneered the suggestion out, not even gazing up to the scarlet-clad Guardian's reaction.

North's back was turned, facing out to a large glass window, arms folded tightly behind his back. His cherry nose was so close to the frosty, wide window, he could feel the light tingle of cold against it. Aster's attention was buried deep into the fine details on the little egg, so he did not notice the gravity in North's expression. He continued to paint.

"Bunny," North started after a moment of pause, only having started after hearing the heavy buzz of Toothiana's hummingbird wings.

"Oh, I get it, I get it." He rationalized mockingly, his Australian accent thick. " 'I make many more things when preparing for Christmas every year than you'd make in a lifetime' or some such." He chuckled patronizingly. "I get it, bloke, but just cuz you're not feeling to prepare for Christmas don't mean I don't gotta for my own holiday, _got_ _it_?" He broke eye contact from the egg (whose legs were twiddling from the tickle of the brush), pointed the paint-end of his tool towards the white-haired toy maker, spring-green eyes stern for emphasis.

But North was not paying attention. "Sure, sure, Bunny. Is how you like." He waived off the arrogant Pooka's comment with a shoo of his strong arm. His Russian accent was prominent, heavy and gruff, just as, secretly, North was not. His turquoise eyes glistened like aquamarines against the sun, whose rays made the snow surrounding the workshop a glistening scape of sparkles. "But there are more important matters than over-preparedness for holidays." He turned back, made sure all four were accounted: himself – Nicholas St. North – Toothiana, Queen of the Tooth Fairy armies, Sanderson Mansnoozie, creator of dreams, and E. Aster Bunnymund, harbinger of spring. He nodded lightly to the silent dream maker, regarding his presence.

"Well, North, Bunny's not the only one who's busy." Toothiana, affectionately known as 'Tooth,' rubbed the back of her feathers as she looked away with a chuckle. She usually did not do well in stern confrontation. "There are so many incisors out there to collect, molars in need of filing!"

"There is new Guardian." The Russian stated simply, folded his arms over his belly, yet those words cast a heavy veil around the three guests in the workshop. Bunny ceased with his brush, Tooth's wings settled, Sanderson's eyes widened, a wispy exclamation mark conveying his thought.

"I'm sorry, a what-who – a what now?" The Pooka stuttered, pacing a few steps, using the business end of his paintbrush to stir his thoughts, running circles of yellow-and-pink swirl dangerously close to his gray fur. "You're saying that after 500 years, there's another one of us?"

"Why would we need that?" Tooth chirped curiously. Sandy's golden wisps seemed to second that thought.

"I am not sure." North answered gravely. "But Man in Moon has not lied as of yet, so it is by his word –"

"–If you can call them words," Bunny grumbled.

"–That we will find our next Guardian. I have assembled us all here today to find out who it will be." North nodded. And just so, although still daylight, the moon glowed strong, its holder cast a moonbeam onto the ground. It shrouded the area in a thick ivory light for a split-second, thinned, then cast around to a crystal embedded into the grounds of the workshop. From the crystal rose a golden platform, holding a cobalt ball of energy, and within that ball was the figures of every sprite and spirit alive.

The ball radiated as it was struck by the moonbeam, and the blue light within it swelled. The Big Four gazed on in awe, halting all motions completely, as they, having been chosen all four at once had never really had a way of knowing how initiating a new member would work. Sandy's sand expressions manifested wildly and with excited abandon, Tooth's bright pink eyes widened with wonder, North smiled smugly, arms folded over his chest, and – although he tried not to seem interested, arms folded and body leaned against a rafter – Aster's ears perked up at the event, fanned out, eyes widening slightly in anticipation, and he prayed quietly, "Please don't be the Groundhog, please don't be the Groundhog, please don't be the Groundhog…"

Until finally, the beam relinquished its energy fully, and a white light consumed the ball of cobalt energy. Once all were able to see again, their eyes cast upon the sight of a pale blue, crystalline hooded figure, wooden Shepard's crook in hand. One hand was inside his pocket, his features smeared by a cast of cobalt upon it.

"J-Jack Frost?" Tooth's voice curved in a heightened question of disbelief. Sanderson's expression was a single snowflake above his head, and he shrugged.

"You mean that two-timin' coward? Doesn't even have time for children! The hell _he's_ gonna be a Guardian?!" The Easter Bunny growled, jabbing the blunt end of his brush towards the crystal figure. "How's he gonna protect children if he don't even want to be around 'em?"

North shook his head slowly. "I am not sure. All I am knowing is that he is now Guardian, whether he knows so or not."

"Whether _he _knows or not?! What about us, huh? Can you even be serious about this? Can _he_?!" Bunny shot a hand up towards the moon, pointing a finger at it. He hopped a few paces towards the open ceiling-window, glaring up at the Man in the Moon. "C'mon, MiM mate, tell me you're joking!"

"I mean…" Tooth started. "Even though I wouldn't say it _that way_, Bun does have a point. No-one even knows where Jack Frost is. He disappeared centuries ago."

Sandy jumped up, making a few images to illustrate his message, including snowflakes, wind, and playing children.

North attempted to translate. "Yes…? But even as so… there is still snow? No – still _winter_ – and as so… there is still Jack Frost? as he makes winter and makes children happy." Sandy nodded gleefully, clapped his hands silently.

"Okay, so we know the little ankle-biter's still kickin' around somewhere. Doesn't mean we know where."

"No, no, Bun; it means he thinks that Jack still cares about the children."

"Enough to make him scurry his tail away, that's for sure!"

"That is enough!" North shouted authoritatively, pounding his foot into the ground. "Whatever thoughts Man in Moon might have, they must be absolute, and must have been forged with much thought. He would not have chosen Jack should he not have a purpose for us. Jack Frost is now Guardian. And it is our duties as fellow Guardians to make sure we find him and welcome him."

The overlapping of opinions – that, at that point, had almost grown into a bunny and hummingbird uproar – settled, and as so, North composed himself. "Bunny, you can choose all you'd like to make a fight out of the fact that Jack is Guardian, or you can accept it, as there is nothing you can do about it."

The bunny's gray ears drooped in frustration; he tried to shrug it off, folding his arms defiantly over his chest. "…Fine. Suppose MiM _would_ have a plan in mind for us to use him. So what are we supposed to do about the kid?"

"We find him." North stated simply. "It is our _duty_ to find him, whether he is missing, has ran away, or has abandoned duties of his own."

Tooth's wings fluttered excitedly at the thought, propelling herself out of the open window – in which the Man in the Moon was watching astutely above them – in an elegant twirl. It was enough for excitement, the fact that she always did have a hidden love for adventure; add that, combined with the fact that she did find the winter sprite a bit cute, as she'd often see Jack wandering about, playing pranks on children. At least, this had been the case in the first couple centuries, before his disappearance. "So where would we start?!" She cried out.

However, this reaction was not received well by the remainder of the crowd; perhaps it was because only Toothiana could contain so much excitement over the little things, maybe it was because they did not share her interest, or maybe it was because they saw the gravity behind it all. Either way, Bunny gazed up at her, sighed, shook his head as he embraced it with an ashen paw as he finally set aside his brush. Sandy shrugged, made a gold question mark above his head, and North spoke for the crowd. "We do not know. All we know is that he will soon realize himself that he is Guardian, which can only mean –"

* * *

"–He must _never_ find out his destiny!" His cry tore through the empty chamber. Deep underground, Pitch and Jack had formed a castle of sorts, from darkness and ice. Beautiful structure, it was, compact and useful, able to withstand furnishing, to which they decorated lavishly. And every hall within the floor – every couch, bed, dark-ice structure – reverberated with the sound of his exclamation. The Fearlings surrounding him cried out in horror, shrunk away from their creator.

Pitch Black was hunched over beside a bronze structure of the continental world, each land mass speckled with luminescent signs of belief, of children who still put faith into the Guardians of Childhood. All, it appeared, except for their newest member. He loosed a low hiss, mumbled to himself a little, gazed onto the open doorway, as if awaiting Jack to enter into the room upon hearing his distress.

When the winter spirit failed to produce himself, the darkling entity allowed himself to pant, breathe a little, sort out what it could all mean.

The answer quirked his lips into a smile, produced a chuckle from his throat. "Really, Manny," The dark-clad antagonist rose, composed himself, folded his arms behind his back. With a crooked smile, he opened his eyes to the alabaster moon, now showing only so faintly. He spoke to it – or rather, the man within it, "You think that by playing the little 'Guardian' card, that he's suddenly going go flip boats? He's been under my care for only the sum of a month, and I can tell you – with utmost confidence – he has felt the best about himself in this small span of a shy less than thirty days than you've been responsible for making him feel _for five hundred years_!" His voice rose into an accusatory shout at the end, a gray-pale digit shooting out towards the Man. "He finally feels like he's _someone_ here, Manny. And only now that he's happy – that he's _mine_ – you decide you can call him a Guardian and take him away from me…? How is that fair? He'll be fighting out there his whole life, saving child upon child that doesn't give a damn about him if you make him a Guardian. I can guarantee you that. Ungrateful, selfish children will turn their backs to him, just like they had every other time. What makes you think that slapping on the Guardian title will change that? Because it won't, and it only has for the Big Four because their effects on children are so noticeable! Two are days humans take time out of each year to celebrate the event of. That's where Aster and Nicholas came from! The other, Toothiana, came from the event of losing a tooth, and how obvious that becomes when, one night, you have a tooth, and the next morning you have a quarter! No-one would appreciate the phenomena of winter. Humans all think its just a passing event that comes and goes. How wrong they are! Without Jack, and all those other winter spirits you don't give a damn about, there'd be no winter. There'd be no Christmas, no hope of spring. Two of your Four could be wiped in the blink of an eye if Jack ever so chose to do unto you what you've done to him. Why, it's so funny that so many people think he's selfish because he took himself away from the children! If he was _truly_ selfish, he could make the world as barren as you make his heart. He could freeze over the world as you know it with the snap of a finger. Or he could choose to make no winter at all! Punish those who never acknowledged his snowball privileges by never allowing them again! Your folly allowed a boy with near-limitless power to be abstained from what he truly wanted for five centuries. You made him feel so lonely. …But just be grateful he's a good soul. So good… that you're not getting him." He chuckled, lowering his head a bit. He gazed back up again. "I have to hand it to you, Manny. Because without you, I never would've been able to get so close to him! He's putty in my hands because I say he matters to me – that's all it takes! He's become pathetic because of you; he's weak and lowly, and so perfect for molding. So I really must thank you for that. Couldn't have done it without you." And with a mocking smile, laugh to boot, he bowed derisively, and closed the curtains.

Jack appeared at the doorway.


	3. Chapter 3

**A Note from me: **I'd like to thank the eight people who'd stepped out of their day to say a few words for me, and perhaps my story as well; your little or many words gave me the motivation to grind through this chapter (as you may have seen, it took me much longer to update this, than two days), and make it something beautiful.

Hopefully more of you considerate people will continue to motivate me in the future.

For all who've kept up, this chapter is presented thusly to you

by the author, with love,

WM7

* * *

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Pitch should have known his powerful ranting would bring forth attention. Especially considering their lair is made entirely of ice, and ice reverberates noise. Thankfully for him, his only real shout was in saying something that Jack already knew: that he was abandoned by the Man in the Moon for centuries – created, and then forgotten immediately thereafter – and that Pitch saved him from himself. At least, besides his roar that could reveal that Jack was a Guardian, but the thought didn't really cross his mind, as he'd checked previously to see if Jack would appear, which he did not.

Jack had freshly entered into the room as Pitch closed the blinds, awaiting the man clad in shadows to acknowledge him and bid him entrance. As Pitch did so, Jack quietly said, "I came when I heard you shouting."

Pitch nodded at this, tried not think much of it. "How much did you hear?"

"Only the shout, Pitch; you yelled at someone about 'five hundred years,' then I heard you murmuring when I was getting closer, but I couldn't make out much. Only that you were talking to the Man in the Moon." And it was the truth.

"Oh, don't we all, Jack? He's responsible for every spirit and sprite's existence in this world. He's responsible for making us shunned, others known."

Jack crossed the ice-and-dark room, settling on the purple couch set into the room. "So you were talking about me."

"Yes,"

"And what did you say?"

"I was angry at him, just as you were for all your life. I was presenting your situation to him, from my point of view."

Jack chuckled wryly at this. "Well then, you're wasting your breath; I've been trying to talk to him for, like you said, all my life, and he still hasn't answered me."

"Well, although I did mention the negatives, as there were many, _many_ negatives, I also brought up a point to him. I thanked him." He smiled at the boy, who was confused as to this statement. "For without him, Jack, we never would have found each-other in this barren wasteland. And even if we did, we'd be at opposite ends. You'd see me like how _they_ did; because, if you were noticed – if he would have given you what you'd wanted all those years ago – you would've looked at me like an inferiority, not as a connection, not as a light at the end of the tunnel (and how ironic that I be a light to anyone?). I would never be seen as an equal to you, Jack, never as someone else forgotten. So I had to thank him for that." He sat down beside the winter sprite, placed a gray-pale hand on his shoulder. "We never would have been together without him." He enunciated softly, his free hand perking up Jack's chin with a finger, allowing those crystal blue eyes to meet his dark amber. Their eyes locked, Jack's softening with understanding. A moment of silence passed between them, until the younger male sighed. Pitch's forehead pressed against Jack's. "And now, we're going to use this blessing-in-disguise to show him to never try to punish us unfairly again, as we've proven now that suppressing us will only make us stronger!" He rose from his seat, spread his arms out wide towards the uninhabited end of the room. "Only make us prove ourselves more."

Jack sighed. "I guess," He replied weakly.

Pitch's lips drew together, formed a thin line as he turned back around to see Jack's low expression. He sat back down. "Oh, come, come, darling; I thought we were in this together!"

"We are! We are… it's just that… I don't want to do this for revenge; I just want to do this for recognition."

"And that's what you'll get – it's _exactly_ what you'll get. And with it, you're telling the Man in the Moon that you won't be suppressed by him." He took both of the younger sprite's white hands in his, rubbed the palms with his thumbs. "Jack… don't let yourself be discouraged; you're doing so well already! I doubt you've ever been so happy."

"It's not that, Pitch," Jack murmured, his cold breath ghosting along the black sprite's hands. "I'm happy, just being here with you. Isn't that enough?"

"Jack!" He hissed disapprovingly, "We have to make these people pay for what they've done!"

"But I don't want anyone to suffer… I just want to – I just _don't _want to be alone, and I'm not anymore, thanks to you, Pitch."

Pitch Black grimaced. "When I took you into my care, you said you would help me – you _promised_ me you'd help me. You're just going to go back on that word now? After I came into your life and promised you that I'd never leave your side? _I _was certainly going to keep my promise! We're supposed to be _partners_ in this, Jack! Don't tell me you're going to back away like a coward!" The younger sprite flinched at this accusation, at the harsh tone his partner was taking on. But, just as Pitch was, his voice softened upon seeing Jack's withdrawal. He moved a hand to comb through some frosty hair. "Oh my… I am sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry."

Jack whimpered softly, trying not to show too much upset, but in reality, every raise-of-the-voice – every accusatory word, every quiet grimace, every deep sigh – made Jack fear for the worst: that this man, to whom he'd now associated with happiness, with familiarity, with love, would leave him behind, make him alone again. So he bore the words said, endured the small touches of abuse, just to make sure Pitch would stay. "It's okay, Pitch; I'm okay… I… I'll do what you want…" And this was commonly how negotiations between dark and ice sprites would go. Jack would have no say.

And secretly, Pitch enjoyed this paranoia, this fear; he fed upon it, leeched from Jack's broken confidence, and it kept him strong. And he knew Jack could never really leave him; after all, they were in love. His gray-pale hands laced into the back of Jack's white hair, hushed him softly, drew close, and pressed a small kiss on the Guardian's pale, frigid lips. "Thank you, Jack. Truly." Another small kiss. "You know how much I care about you, don't you? I've taken you in, given you a place to stay. Now it's only fair you'll return the favor." He laced both arms around the winter sprite, pressing his chin into Jack's shoulders.

Jack worried the lower end of his lips against his teeth, white like freshly-fallen snow. "I'm scared, though… just… to begin the transition… I'm scared that, when we start, we won't be able to go back, because I know we won't."

"And that will be the best thing, starting. Come now; we're going to make that first… announcement – transition, as you'd put it, but I do believe 'announcement' has the better connotation in this case."

"Announcement," Jack repeated quietly after a pause, almost to himself, fear lacing every note of his voice.

"We're finally going to work, Jack; we're going to get our hands dirty, show the world, finally, that we will not back down." Pitch was grinning devilishly, his golden eyes glistening with purpose, excitement, aimed directly towards the shaded window. "Come now; let's make our first mark."

* * *

The night was quiet as the two sprites patrolled the grounds. There was hardly a noise to be made, just the light padding of bare, frigid feet against the pavement. The winter sprite's crook was held tightly at hand, body hunched and fearful, following closely behind the darkling spirit, whose boots were tapping against the ground as he walked, hands folded behind his back. "Isn't it grand, Jack? So quiet; just you and I here together, with hundreds of children around us."

Jack sighed lowly, knowingly, and his eyebrows knit, yet he did not say a word. His cold heart feared inside of what Pitch was to plan, but it also feared what would become of him should he resist. So he did not.

"Oh Jack, come now." Pitch's smile faded upon seeing the winter sprite. "Would you like me to start this?"

"What are we even going to do? How will we… will we get the Man in the Moon's attention to begin with?"

The black spirit chuckled darkly. "Oh that? That will be easy, Jack. Observe." And with that note, the shadow under Pitch's spectral body swelled and darkened, pieces detached like droplets from a leaf, grew upright into black forms, yellow eyes glowing wildly, maliciously; the Fearlings, still anchored to the patches of darkness projected from light, escaped from shadow to shadow, entering into the windows, doors, cracks, and walls of sleeping homes. Each housed an innocent child or more, dreaming brightly of dreams and hopes far beyond reality, sweetly projected by the golden sand threads that only those of the spirit world could see. It made every child in the neighborhood's mouths quirk a bit upward, snuggle a bit more into their sheets, content as they were able to imagine the small, pleasant thoughts, and have their wishes fulfilled for the night.

However, the horror-terror creatures twisted around lamplight, shines of the moon, twinkles of the stars, and stood beside the rays of golden sand, placing a dark-entwined finger into the stream of wonder, and infecting its child's dream, making him or her toss and turn, groan uncomfortably, and filled their mind with the ebbing of a pleasant projection into dark, horrible thoughts. It was as if every child's mind was working against them, punishing them for the invisible wrong they'd done, for participating in a battle between Guardian and renegade spirit, on a different plane of existence. Each dream succumbed to a nightmare leeched their pain into the darkling sprite, who stood gazing up at the moon with a crooked smile placed on his gray lips.

Pitch sighed contentedly, his body flowing with newfound energy. "Make it hail, Jack." He commanded, voice still flush with content.

Jack's eyebrows furrowed in horror. "But I –"

"_I _asked you to make it hail, Jack."

"I didn't want you to hurt them, Pitch! Stop, please!"

The ebony-locked male froze still, then turned darkly towards his wintry partner. "Jack…" He began grimly, his voice filled with malice, "We've spoken repeatedly about necessary sacrifices. This is _war_." He growled harshly, his golden eyes hard with anger, "What about that can't you understand? We have to make a statement somehow, and this is the only way how; _don't you understand that_?! You think that running along to the Guardians and asking them to accept us is going to help? You think that asking the Man in the Moon is going to help? Hm? Did they _ever_ help you before? No; so we have to do it ourselves! And how am I supposed to do it without you? How are _you_ supposed to do this if you keep growing a conscience?! How are _we_?! This is what _must_ be done, Jack! Not just for us, not just for all the discarded sprites now, but for _all_ sprites in generations to come! So let's make that first step, Jack! Do as I say, and _make it hail_."

The young spirit was nearly in tears, his mind torn between the love of his partner – with whom came acceptance by the spirit world – or the safety of the children – who, for five hundred years previously, had abandoned him and refused to believe. Still, a frosty tear trickled down the edge of his eyes, shed for the millions of children who'd left him to rot, and he did just as his lover demanded. His crook glowed with a winter-blue frost, and he thrust it into the ground, causing a large diameter of ice upon the road. The heavy, thick formations of pure ice were soon to follow, forming from dark clouds that were now circling the once-starry night sky. They fell in great sweeps, and began crunching into the pavement, the trees, the roofs of buildings.

"It's time to go; that's enough of a message for those fools." Pitch Black scowled towards the moon – who was being swallowed up by black clouds – then turned back to the winter spirit and smiled gently, taking him earnestly by the hand, noticing his upset. "Oh come, Jack; this is what had to be done." He gave the younger sprite a soft kiss. "I'm sorry you had to learn such a thing this way; but it had to be learned nonetheless."

Jack sighed, let a few more tears prick the corners of his eyes, his voice gasping and choppy with tears. "I never… I never wanted anyone to get hurt… and you hurt so many children tonight… you ruined their dreams, filled them with nightmares."

Pitch tsked. "It's all I really can do, Jack. I never wanted to be a manifestation of darkness, but so be it that, the Man in the Moon insisted. I was created to be an antagonist; I never had a say. I simply woke up one day from the life I'd freshly died from and I was made to harm. There's nothing I can do now but try to use that to my advantage. You should learn the same; for you are not darkness, my sweet, but you are simply misunderstood. And with your near-limitless energy, you could learn to do so many things besides snowballs and the occasional snow; you could create something far greater than anything those Guardians could ever imagine." He took Jack's hands in his, brushed over the palm gently. "And it would be these hands that would craft such greatness." He then took him by his shoulders and brought the winter sprite close to his chest, allowed the cold tears to soak into the darkness of his clothes.

"I know… I know; you keep saying that I'll be doing so much for so many, but at what cost…?" His voice was garbled with the tears in his throat, muffled by Pitch's chest.

"Whatever cost is necessary, Jack; I know that it hurts to say, and I know you don't want such a thing to be true, but, sometimes, there is no way to satisfy all, and that is when revolution begins."

Jack sighed, crystalline-blue eyes gazing up at liquid amber, and he sniffled, nodding at Pitch's words, and returning his head to the darkling spirit's chest. "It's what has to be done…" He conceded halfheartedly. "What has to be done…"

* * *

Toothiana's wings were beating very rapidly as her eyes filled in sorrow. Her feathered eyelashes drooped, her lips parting, yet refusing to make a sound. One of her smaller Tooth Fairies came by her aid, chirped a few words to her reassuringly. She finally spoke thereafter, "Something feels so wrong." Her hand rested on her fast-beating heart, her pink eyes cast out to an unknown location, but seemingly attuned to the direction of distress. All other Guardians were turned the same way.

"I feel it, too." Aster affirmed, dark eyebrows furrowed. "Just… a sudden drop. I feel it, and it feels so bad. But it doesn't feel like this's it…"

"Like this is only beginning." North finished, head shaking slightly.

The Pooka grimaced, shook his head, but then a pang ran through his chest, through his fingers, into his ears. His spring-green eyes rose to where Toothiana was gazing unto. He stepped a few paces closer, and his heart sank with a melancholy feeling, for the feeling itself was not his own. It was that of a child's. One who was losing hope.

It was ironic that he felt so; usually, the gray-furred Guardian could not feel such a large swell of lost hope manifested into a single being; usually he could only feel so when there was much lost hope in many children, all within close proximity. So why could he feel a single presence emanating so much hopelessness? Unless the presence itself was very powerful… His face changed from an expression of disappointment to one of sadness.

It was the same feeling – the same child he'd abandoned.

* * *

**Post-Script:** From the reviews I'd read, I find it now rather humorous that some of you are angry at MiM and the Guardians, due to Pitch's words; because, it is with the same logic he'd presented to Jack that's he's baiting my passionate viewers!

I understand where you all could think that what MiM has done is 'inconsiderate,' but what Pitch would never tell Jack (and, therefore, would never be presently thusly) is that MiM was, in fact, watching over him the whole time, just as he was for the rest of the spirit world. Pitch Black simply chooses to downplay all of the Guardian's and MiM's efforts, to persuade Jack onto his side, and to keep the sprite loyal to him.

So – and in efforts to keep my words brief – I simply ask that you keep an open mind, as we've only heard (with monologue upon monologue) Pitch's antagonistic side of the story, and not a very detailed account of the Guardian's view of the matter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

They'd arrived far too late. The small neighborhood they'd brought themselves to – from the instinct to approach a sheer lack of positive feeling that they'd put so much effort into defending – was ravaged by an innumerable amount of darkness. Pleasant memories were being replaced with fear, hopes were waning, dreams shattered, and wonder lost. Every one of the four current Guardians (active, that is) scoured about the area, searching for any child left undamaged, left with a peaceful night's rest, and there were none. Instead, they had to compensate for the damage they could not prevent.

Henceforth, the goodies Bunnymund had been creating in the month prior were salvaged, placed beside the squirming, suffering children's beds, free quarters were given, along with candy canes and small toys. The Sandman rose up on a cloud of gold, streams of its silken sand penetrating through the darkness surrounding the pleasant dreams of each restless child, and with the conquer of fears came the release of tension, replacing back into their minds the dreams they wished to have.

He returned to the ground, after all the harmful dreams were reset, and shook his head lowly in disappointment.

Aster nodded at the gesture. "I know what you're thinking, mate, and I'd have to agree: who'd have enough bounce in 'em to do this? And in one night, besides. Makes me sick to my stomach thinking someone'd want to hurt kids so bad, and for what?"

Tooth shook her head sadly; it seemed to be the general gesture about all their faces. "Well… I don't really know what to say about all this…" She sighed, "What to do, I mean… we still haven't found Jack – heck, we hadn't been able to find him in two hundred years, since he's gone missing – and now this is happening!"

"It is perhaps why he was chosen as Guardian to begin with…" North pondered, then looked about at the crowd of his friends, his peers, his fellow Guardians, noticed the glum mood stretched across their expressions in generalized unity. He laughed heartily at this. "Oh, come now with the sad faces! Everyone jolly up! Jack is still out there, and as long as that is so, we will find him, no? There is no use in running around like wild bull searching for him everywhere, and as he is on the move himself, we will perhaps never find him in such pursuit! So we should all get rest." He smiled, rubbing his famous, round belly. "We will continue search in the morning."

"In the meanwhile, I'll try to find the sleazebag responsible for taking all the hope from these kids, right?"

"You will do just so! And I will attempt to locate Jack Frost." The man clad in red replied.

"I wonder if his teeth have anything to do with where he is…" Tooth murmured an aside from the holiday Guardians's conversation.

Above Sandy's head appeared an exclamation mark, followed thereafter by streams of sand proposing to look into how their perpetrator could have targeted children's dreams.

"Sandy, you too?" North exclaimed excitedly, then laughed a boisterous laugh. "We are in business, then! Locating this attack and finding Jack Frost! We will report findings tomorrow at workshop! So get to working!" Following such a note, North produced a snow globe which, upon a toss, created a trumpet-shaped portal to his workshop. Toothiana flew off in a formation of her and her Fairies, Aster thumped twice onto the ground, creating a hole into his warren, and Sandy decided that, today, he would leave on a compact, golden-sand UFO.

And so the search commenced.

* * *

Tooth arrived in her topsy-turvy castle, and immediately disposed herself to the archives. She rummaged through the many cases of memory-imbued teeth, collected over the near-one thousand years she'd been alive. She allowed herself to search back a few hundred years (humming to herself the entire time), and finally came across a brown-haired boy's milk teeth, his face similar to Jack's, his teeth like freshly-fallen snow.

She smiled at this finding, clutching the embellished container tightly to her feathered chest, for it was Jack Frost, before he had died. The half-hummingbird opened the case gently, and observed the contents. His name: Jackson Overland Frost, who was lost to a frozen lake near the mid-1600s, at the age of seventeen, in Burgess, Pennsylvania, reportedly saving his younger sister by playing a game – the same process of which lead to his untimely demise.

Usually, she did not participate in such activities, but the haste to find Jack lead to a bit of indulging into the taboo.

She'd discovered that, of all places the Frost family had enjoyed visiting, it was always Antarctica that the young, human Jack enjoyed the most (as they'd lost their way sailing to the Americas), as he wished for the cold, snowy conditions everyday. But this, aligned with so many other locations (her focus was primarily on the lake in which he was killed), was simply another location in a list of many; but, at least now, there was a list. Content with her findings, she decided it best to rest her high-strung body, and escaped thusly into her bedchamber.

* * *

Sandman's efforts lay within the 'crime scene' presented during the night. He scrutinized the area ever more closely, for any sign of what could have caused the occurrence, and who could have. Of course, one sprite came to mind immediately, but he wasn't seen since the Dark Ages, and it was certainly unfair to attempt to judge someone for what they had done in the past. Pitch Black, just as Jack Frost was now, had been missing for a very long time. In the time of his disappearance, there couldn't even be a measure as to how many impersonators or revolutionists tried to imitate what the Boogeyman had accomplished – all darkling spirits – snuffed out within a few days, sometimes a few hours. Perhaps one had grown powerful, out of control? Perhaps it _was_, in fact, Pitch Black, and the Guardians were leaving him for last as a purposeful inevitable?

Sandy, for one, did not wish to leave any stone unturned, did not want to accuse an innocent sprite. And even then, he could not very easily convey his swarming thoughts; he couldn't speak at all, and yet there was so much to say…

So he continued to search for any evidence. He would not sleep tonight; he had all day for that.

* * *

North always had… _ways_ of finding most sprites; however, most of these ways did not work. His shop was brimming with experimental, untested methods of sprite-tracking. He'd exhausted sixteen of them already, and still, Jack Frost was not to be found, or any sprite for that case – not even himself. "Junk," He kept murmuring to himself, tossing experiment after fiasco aside. "Junk… junk… junk…" Perhaps he should have stuck to toy-making. His light blue eyes glanced up occasionally at the golden-plated globe, projecting every believing child in the world as a small light. The small town in Pennsylvania seemed to have suffered from last night's occurrence.

As he was rummaging to find a spirit-tracker that could work in the slightest, his peripherals glanced up to a horrific sight: the golden globe's lights were beginning to fade very rapidly, and was beginning to be shrouded in darkness, every trickling light remaining being snuffed out by blackness. From such dark, Fearlings began to emerge, gazing up at Father Christmas with malicious intent brimming in their candy-yellow eyes, and they began to move towards him through the shadows.

They surrounded him in swarms, on every side; yet North – always prepared and always with fight in him – readied two scimitars for the darkling creatures, and loosed a heavy battle cry. The creatures hissed and clawed loosely towards the Christmas Guardian, and yet, after a moment, they swallowed themselves up into the shadows, and escaped. The darkness retracted from the globe, returned the gold to it, and the lights began to flicker on once more. Yet a shadow slipped by, right beneath North's feet, and projected the image of snowflakes by the open window.

North's eyes grew small, gazing at the simple, yet dark, gesture of falling ice crystals. The shadow escaped out the window. He gasped, scanned about the room for any more darkness, then back to the open window. Actual snow was falling in piles just in the coldness of the outside, and the shadow was nowhere to be seen. He paused. "…Can it be?" He murmured, then a loud, rather irritating beeping went off in a pile of many silent failures. "Hm?" He hummed, throwing away pieces and bits of the mechanical pile of errors and mishaps, finally coming across one device, beeping frantically, and with information of spirit energy in the area: the workshop. One was himself, of course: Nicholas St. North, but the other was far more shocking.

Jack Frost had been in the workshop.

* * *

The warren, above all, was most chaotic. The eggs were going about in their usual fashion, falling helplessly, yet playfully, into the river of paint, and yet there was no head bunny to keep them in line, or check on them constantly. The Warrior Eggs took control of that, unwavering as to why their master was not present, for they knew the circumstances under which Aster was a Guardian, and duties would call as such.

But as for truly why Bunny was absent from watching over the young eggs, not going about his eccentric efforts to make sure Easter was properly prepared for? Fighting, of course.

Easels were scattered about the ground, one boomerang lodged into a thick dirt wall, unable to return to its rightful place on the Hope Guardian's back. Aster growled lowly, his egg bombs having been exhausted, his den having been destroyed, mostly by his own doing, but would not have, had "Come now, Aster, look at the mess you've made." not appeared.

In the midst of crumbled dirt structures, ruined grass bedding, and broken paint equipment, was a standstill, the gray-furred Pooka at one end, panting softly, his body hunched low, back leg muscles ready to pounce upon the dark spirit on the other end.

"You've got a lotta nerve, Pitch," His spring eyes locked with the liquid amber. "Comin' right to my warren – my home – like it's-it's-it's some sort of party? What do you even want? If this was a party then, by god, you'd certainly _never_ be invited." He glanced over at the lodged boomerang; perhaps he could reach for it, should he have the right distraction…

Surrounding Pitch was his loyal minions. Fearlings, not nearly so close as they were in the workshop (or rather, are, as the events of the warren, workshop, castle, and upon sand-steams were happening to coincide), keened by their master, surrounding him in almost a wall. Beside the Nightmare King, however, was a dark creature that could only be brought about if his influence was truly reached: a Nightmare, manifested in the form of a black stallion, wisps of darkness allowing no defined end to its form.

"What do I want?" He chuckled derisively at this, a crooked smile playing on his lips. "I think you know what I want."

"Well, if it's an ass-whooping, I think you got one." The bunny sneered.

"Language!" Pitch hissed. "Language, Easter Bunny. She's just a newborn baby." His gray-pale hand move to comb through the Nightmare's black surface. "You shouldn't swear around infants."

"Wh…? Newborn?"

"She was created this very night, Bunny, from the collective fear of children in the small Pennsylvania town; I believe you were there, were you not?"

"That was you…?" His dark gray eyebrows furrowed in questioning.

"Oh, of course, Aster; why would I be here if it was not?"

"Maybe to make yourself useful and leave an anonymous tip on who actually would've done it. That wouldn't've been too hard, now would it?"

"Then here's my tip, though it isn't so anonymous: I've done it."

"Great; you want a medal? 'Biggest douchebag to return from the Dark Ages'?

"I've said language!" Pitch sarcastically enforced.

"And I'm speakin' one; you happy now?" He bent down on all-fours, scratched his chin a bit with his back paw coolly. "Look, you've chosen the very wrong Guardian to try to glorify yourself to, cuz I really don't care. All I know is that you're the scumbag responsible for this, thanks to your dumb move to mosey yourself up in front of me. You're probably gonna say your whole plan cuz you think I won't be able to stop it."

"Oh no, no; I'm not _that_ egotistical, Bunny! Though it is something we share in common. I won't even begin to tell you what I will do, only what I have already done, and that is attacking that neighborhood."

"We've already fixed that leak, Pitch; so what's your new game?"

Pitch's arms folded behind his back, and he chuckled lowly. "Surprises," Is all he said on the matter. "You know how much I love surprises; don't you?"

"No,"

"Then I suppose you'll have to get used to them, as I'm full of surprises."

"Know what else you're full of? Full of yourself and full of sh–"

"Bunny. You're really going to spread hope to children with a mouth like that?"

Aster closed his gray lips thusly. "Fine. But I don't rightly care about your Nightmare horse-baby, not at all like I care much on what you're planning either, because you're – I'd have to judge – a really piss-poor villain trying to make himself back up to what he was, and he never will."

" 'Piss-poor,' you say… hm…" he weighed the Guardian of Hope's words for a moment, placed a hand on his chin, nodded slightly. "Funny, that you say that, as it's because of me that _YOU EVEN EXIST_." The Master of Darkness cried, snaps of black energy whipping around the room, further demolishing what was already in disrepair. "_You_ were all made because Manny was afraid I'd get too powerful, because darkness – what _he'd_ created me out of – should never prevail over light, which is _exactly_ what you four are! Do you think that's fair? To be –"

"No, no; do _you_ think it's so fair to share your beef with us over plaguing children? That they have to suffer nightmares and pain cuz you're mad at us? That's low, Pitch, lower than how you were after we beat you."

"You'll never understand what it's like to be the way I am – the way ninety-nine percent of sprites in this world are!"

"Oh, cry in a river and drown in it; you're just upset that you'll never terrorize anyone again, and now you're playing like a baby so MiM'll recognize you. And what'll happen if he does? You think he'll give you a pat on the shoulder for hurting innocent children? I wouldn't think so." He crossed his arms over his thick-furred chest. "So hey, maybe I shouldn't swear around you, cuz I shouldn't be swearin' 'round infants."

"This isn't even the beginning, Aster. Maybe you should relax that hard-hearted spirit of yours; after all, it's not very approachable to children, especially those whose hope is being lost." Pitch's smile bared his pointed fangs, brandished his pernicious intent, as Aster's eyes widened, mouth opened slightly to investigate a question about his words. However, Pitch Black's body dissolved into the shadows, as well as his Fearlings, and escaped through the darkness, out the den and from the warren. "Ta-ta for now, Easter Bunny." Were the wispy words Aster was left with.

The Nightmare stood there, yellow eyes locked with new spring. It whinnied thereafter, galloped out an open window, and left a small image, etched in darkness, upon the floor.

It was a boy, on his knees and head hung low, tears brimming in his absent eyes, colored in black, and with wisps of darkness misting off his body. It was a child succumbing to the darkness, from the losses of what the Guardians were to provide.

Aster's body relaxed a bit after coming to terms that Pitch was truly gone, but then soon flooded with that same absent feeling, from that same powerful source, and he felt a very strong bond leading him somewhere.

He thumped the ground twice, created a hole to that somewhere, and hopped in. He would not let that source slip away from him again.

* * *

Where he arrived, it was very cold. His paws numbed from the sheer touch of it. Wind blew wildly, howled, and the snow was thick on the ground, thick as it blew past. It was difficult for the Easter Guardian to even get a good sight of what was around him.

He was in Antarctica.

Out in the distance, however, he could make out a pale figure, wrapped in a cornflower blue on his head and light brown on his legs, hood pulled over his head, and walking in the opposite direction, in one hand, a staff of sorts, the other shoved into his pocket.

"Hey… hey kid! Kid!" The gray Pooka called out, as the boy's appearance worried him. Was that child waking around barefoot, in this blistering cold? Using his front paws to warm himself up – as best as he could, at least – he began hopping in great leaps towards the hooded adolescent. And there, as he landed beside the child, he huffed for a warm breath, then attempted his best smile, despite the inclement weather. "Well, hey there, kiddo. What'cha doin' out here in the cold in skimpy clothes like that?"

The boy gasped from behind him, froze still, his face still invisible to the Guardian of Hope. As he spun around, he knocked the tall Pooka over with his staff, gripped it in both hands, and allowed it to glow in a pale blue energy, directing it towards Aster.

The child's face, filled with fear and horror, was undeniable. E. Aster Bunnymund had found Jack Frost, but in the worst way possible.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Note from me: **A very small one, in fact. This is just a small pre-script thanking all of you who reviewed, for this story, as I am now publishing only the fifth chapter of, has become my _most successful story_. So thank you all for your previous and continued support, and for finding my story amusing.

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

The fact that Aster hadn't arrived the next morning concerned the other Guardians very greatly. They waited a very long time for him to show, as he'd usually be the one to arrive fashionably late. North allowed an upwards of half an hour to let concern get to him, and he insisted that no-one speak of their findings until all were present.

At length, the rotund toy maker sighed. "It appears Bunny shall not be joining us."

"What if something happened to him?!" Tooth cried, her hand brushed over her lips. "What if the same spirit that attacked those poor children in Pennsylvania attacked him? What if he's hurt? – _oh god_, what if he's hurt?!"

"Tooth, please try and relax –" North attempted to calm the motherly Guardian down, but to no avail.

"But what if he's out there and he needs us?! What if he's alone and scared and in danger and –"

"You realize this is probably same way Jack Frost has been for over two hundred years, correct? Do not be so one-sided; and besides, you know how Bunny is. Perhaps his nose has caught scent and could not let it get away."

"North, you _know _he'd come to us first if he was on the trail of something! You know that!"

"Eh, sometimes he does, sometimes he does not. If the situation was surrounded by great urgency, then I do not expect him to check in with us. He is very attuned to danger, and is very passionate of helping relieve it."

"Well it's not like we can sit around here and do absolutely nothing! Please, just say the word and we'll find him, North! We can talk about what we found later; but right now, we need to _find Bunny_."

"But what shall we prioritize?" North cried, a bit frustrated, slamming his great hand upon the table. "First we must find Jack, then we must find perpetrator, and now we must find Bunny." He grumbled, "You would think under such circumstances Bunny would be more considerate… och…"

"Then maybe we should split up!" Tooth suggested quickly.

Sandy shook his head vigorously at this, creating three strands of dream sand molding together, creating a check mark.

"Sandy is correct; we shall not splinter ourselves down into further small numbers. We will first try to find Bunny, then if we cannot, we shall split up, yes?"

The golden-clad dream maker heaved a silent, heavy sigh, shook his head slightly, then shrugged in halfhearted approval.

"Well… I suppose that's more fair. We'll start in the warren, then, and if he's not there, we'll search someplace else!" Tooth smiled, though it was sheepish. "Though I don't know where else we'd look…" She murmured.

"Do not worry, Tooth! That is good plan!" North nodded at this suggestion, then drew out one of his snow globes. "I am thinking…" He whispered into it whimsically, "The warren of Easter Bunny." And, upon a toss, a trumpet-shaped portal appeared, and on the other side of it was the same warren. The eldest Guardian (in projected age, that is; truly, the oldest Guardian among them was Sandy) then gave a polite bow, allowing his colleagues to enter into the vortex before entering it himself, the trumpet swallowing itself thereafter, allowing no-one else to gain entrance. But there was no need.

* * *

By the time the morning arrived, Bunnymund found himself buried in the snow, his back against the wall of a shallow ice cave; pelts of crystals gusting through the air assaulted him mildly, his spring-green eyes like emeralds in the rising sun. His nose twitched at the feeling of such cold melting at the touch of him, and he groaned, running a paw through the sore spot on his head where he had been struck. For such a small child, he certainly had an arm.

And soon, a thought came to mind. Where _was_ that boy? Where was… Where was _Jack Frost_? Oh god, he was such an idiot, now wasn't he? The newfound Guardian had been right at the tips of his great ashen paws, and he let him _get away_. How could he have just let something like that happen…?

* * *

_"Hey, hey, now; no need to be so hasty with that there." And there I was, timid, horrified… I tried my best to seem contained about the fact that the Easter Bunny was standing right in front of me – or rather, fallen down in front of me. Seemed to me like I really swept him off his feet._

_I figured, then, I could try humoring myself a little; after all, I'd only just begun to remember what it was like to smile, but I also figured, then, that it was no time to smile at all. After all, I was scared… so much more than anything, I was scared. Scared of how Pitch would react should he find out that the Easter Bunny encountered me, scared of what that Easter Bunny would do to me, scared I'd mess something up _again_ in the worst way possible – which I suppose I was already doing in letting myself get caught, like a fool, and not running immediately._

_But I found myself frozen stiff, staring eye-to-eye with my enemy, who apparently had no knowing that he _was _my enemy to begin with. So I then supposed Pitch must have had a reason for it – for him not knowing I was against him – and I allowed it, but god, I still couldn't move._

_The Bunny began to twitch a bit in his place, then. I readied my staff towards him, allowed it to glow a little more. "Okay, okay!" He raised his hands up like a surrender, not letting himself move anymore. "I won't mosey around anymore, okay? Look, I just wanna talk."_

_And it was with those words that the fear cut just that much deeper. He wanted to speak to me, without Pitch here. Already, we were alone in the deserted Antarctic, miles from any civilization. He could have killed me at any given moment; those legs already looked ready to pounce, and there was no telling when he would. But he didn't. He stayed still, arms (front legs?) raised and out. I found myself making a whimpering noise, and I hated it. It made me seem so weak._

_"C'mon now, kid. You must have a name on you or something."_

_"No more words." I allowed myself to say. It sounded far more powerful when I did say it, and that surprised me; I reminded myself of Pitch then, so emphatic and expressive – animate – though I was neither emphatic nor expressive. I was simply authoritative, and that was something I couldn't believe I could do, especially after two hundred years without hearing my own voice. But then… I messed up. I stuttered, hesitated, and my projected self-control and authority were shattered, "I… I'm going to leave now. And-And you'll stay right there when I do."_

_It seems the Guardian took advantage of that, because he said, "I can't allow you to do that, mate; spent too long trying to find you, and I won't let you slip away again."_

_My fear took over. My eyebrows furrowed, my staff faltered, and I tried to escape. I turned away from him, and flew off as far as I could, as fast as I could. But he was just as fast, and what he couldn't compensate for in flying, he did just as well jumping, shouting, "Kid! Kid, come back! No please, don't leave now!" And other various ad-libs as he continued to hunt after me, trying to play himself off as a kind and open creature, just like Pitch said he would. In fact, everything Pitch had claimed about the Guardians was true so far. He claimed they'd try to get me alone, which the Easter Bunny had, that they'd try to establish connections with me, say how much I matter and how much they need me. I knew this would all be untrue, because if I really _had_ mattered, I wouldn't have been where I was. They'd attempt incentives to try to make me happy and complacent, try to bargain and to lecture, and share stories and whatnot, to try to make me feel empathic to them, and make me feel guilty if I stayed by Pitch's side. He claimed they'd do whatever they could, even call me one of their own – a Guardian – to try to take him away from me. _

_Pitch was supposedly a terrible man back at one time, the Dark Ages (as he'd told me himself), and that, I could believe. I could very easily believe he was evil at one point, as he'd often call himself an antagonist, and how he was made for darkness – and with it, the connotation of evil. What I can't understand is why they'd continue to insist that he was a horrible spirit; after all, everyone makes mistakes. Couldn't they be willing to look past what he'd done in the past to make up for what he is now? Just because he was born to be evil didn't make him evil inside, did it? And inversely, just because I was cold inside didn't mean I had to make the world cold, so I never did._

_I'd felt it safe if I could find a roof for my head, but I didn't dare try to return to the underground castle, not with the Guardian on my end. I escaped into an ice cave, but it was shallow. I gasped as I turned around; the Easter Bunny's feet crunched into the snow at the mouth of the cave, but he didn't move an inch closer. I tried to push myself back as far as possible (maybe twenty feet or so), but my breathing was ragged, breath ghosting out as vapor, just warm enough to liquefy the dry crystals around it. _

_The Easter Bunny spoke first. "Like I asked, you've gotta have a name on you, don't you?"_

_"Y-Yes…" I answered timidly, finding no other option but to hurt him – which I had no intention of doing; I already couldn't forgive myself for what happened in the small town I hung around most of my afterlife – or comply. So I complied. But the words that Pitch had spoken to me resonated in my head, that I was supposed to seek revenge on the Guardians, that this was war. I was supposed to hurt him, but I just wouldn't allow myself to do it._

_"Well… you mind tellin' it, kiddo? My name's Aster." He smiled at me, hunched over a bit so his large stature leveled mine. "Ethan Aster Bunnymund, though I prefer 'Aster' more, so it'd be E. Aster Bunnymund, wouldn't it?" A dry chuckle. "Is your name, by any chance, Jack?"_

_I hesitated, gasped. Any hopes that I was just a passerby stranger to him was lost. I nodded._

_"Jack Frost?"_

_Again, I nodded, and swallowed thickly._

_"Hey, hey; it's okay, kiddo. It's alright. I'm not gonna hurt'cha. Mind telling me where you live? Just a general thing, no need to go all specific."_

_I pointed to the ground, utterly silenced by fear._

_"So you live here in the cold, away from all the people?" _

_A nod from me._

_"That's nice… suppose a winter spirit don't need much warm, now do they? It'd only do them harm. See, cold is really essential, ain't it? See, I'm a bunny, and I know how important it is; I need to hibernate, after all; and without winter, there'd be no hibernation."_

_There he was before me, trying to establish trust. It made me sick, knowing how much what he was doing followed as Pitch had advised; it seemed like they did this with every sprite they would talk to. But why talk to me now? Pitch said they only talk to unwanted sprites when they were about to exterminate them. And I'd told him what a horrible thing it was to say that, because I believed, then, that sprites would never kill one-another, but he claimed it was true, to 'keep the population down,' and I feared I was next. What, with the talk of hibernation, defined as 'very long sleep.' _

_"Look, Jack…" The gray bunny began. "I really want to help you. I know you've been ignored, especially by those who really should've been there to talk to you, but we've found you after so long, and we want to help you, you understand?"_

_I nodded, though truly I didn't understand a thing; I didn't understand why it took them five hundred years to find me, why they chose now to see me, why now they chose to help me. But, instead of saying this, I just nodded._

_"I know… I know it's hard to get at, but I've been down your road…" And there he was, throwing the pity story to try to have me connect with him! "I mean, sure I was never, y'know, not believed in, but back where I was from, there were only four 'a us. And all the others seemed so important! …And then there was me, y'know? That's how I felt, just…" He trailed off due to an unknown cause. Unknown to me, that is. But I caught his subtle glance to my jacket pocket, and he saw the same glint I did._

_The snow globes._

_I gazed up at him, who was trying to play it off as not seeing, but I knew better. I imbued my staff with energy as he spoke of his 'tragic' life, then walked up to him after a moment, and did what had to be done._

_I struck him, and left him in the cold._

* * *

But he didn't leave the bunny solely in the cold. He must have felt some sort of pity, as the sole item draped thinly over Bunnymund's body was a brown cloak of sorts. It was very long, with billowing features, wrapped around Aster's chest and shoulders. It smelled of cold peppermint, and the Guardian of Hope was certain he'd smelled that scent before, for Jack Frost himself had left the cloak on him, as a gesture of remorse and in hopes that the Pooka would not freeze to death, and it was Jack Frost himself who pulled Aster into the cave, in hopes that the three walls would shade him from the harsh, cold wind.

In essence, Jack Frost saved his life, after he himself put it in jeopardy.

The gray-furred male gently took the cloak in hand, took a once-over on the craftsmanship of it – it was perhaps of the 1650s. He took a small whiff of it, and his nose twitched at the strong, peppery smell that escaped into his nostrils. He nodded to himself, memorizing the scent of it, for he could not allow Jack to escape from him any longer.

* * *

By the time the others arrived in the warren, they could find bits and pieces of the Easter Bunny's den left in disarray and mess, yet a bedding of grass and straw was salvaged, and a fire was lit. Bunny's paws were before the fire, allowing the heat to absorb into them and channel throughout his body.

"Oh, thank goodness you're alright, Bunny!" Tooth cried, buzzing towards the rabbit and hugging him fiercely.

"Oof! Well… uh, glad to know I'm loved out there by someone, eh?"

"You know I'll always love you! And all of you! You're all my family, and I get so worried sick when you're all not safe – what happened?"

"Pitch was here last night. Attacked me in my own frikken den, can you believe that? Gutless coward." He sneered, rubbing his front paws together to generate a bit more warmth.

"But that cannot be true! He was in my workshop!" North claimed, raising his scimitar and waggling it a bit to prove his point.

"How d'you know that? Felt it in your belly?"

"No! I have proof!" And with that, he heaved a great green sack, let it plop to the ground with a clatter of mechanics. "Now, if I could only remember which one…"

"I didn't find much interesting about Jack last night in the archives." Tooth began, as she realized North would take much time to find… whatever it is he was finding. "But I know the town that was attacked last night happened to be the same town Jack's human self was born and raised in. What does it mean, though?"

"And what I found – och!" The one most known by humans as 'Santa' grunted, lifting a contraption from the pile. "–Is that Jack Frost was in my workshop! Last night!"

And so the overlapping conversation, spread from panic and confusion, began. "_And _Pitch?!" Tooth gasped.

"Dirty liar! How could he have been in your workshop? Why would he even go there?"

"Maybe he needed help." Suggested Tooth. "Since all these things seem to be happening ever since Jack was named a Guardian –"

"Yes, but at same time, it could be opposite thing –"

"You're hardly even credible anymore, ya git. You even _seen_ Jack Frost _or_ Pitch last night? Cuz Pitch was right here in front 'a my bloody eyes."

"But what if this guy's coming with a vengeance because of Jack?"

"Cuz 'a _Jack_! Whadda 'bout us, Tooth?"

With all the overlapping conversations, ideas, Sandy took the machine that North had found, that was lost to arguing. He tugged on one of the straps holding Aster's boomerangs to him.

"What? Wha… what is it, Sandy?"

The golden man offered him and Tooth to look. "It's.… Jack Frost and North, at the workshop last night." Tooth relayed quietly, shocked. "It's their energy signatures."

North laughed boisterously at this. "I've told you so! I had proofs that Jack Frost was in workshop –"

"But not Pitch." Bunny sighed. "Cuz he was in my den, ten feet from my face. And did this." His arms made a sweep around the structure clad in dirt.

"Well that's okay!" Tooth smiled, her teeth glistening and perfectly maintained. "So that only means that Jack was in your workshop and Pitch was in the den."

"But why?" North inquired quietly. "Though Jack Frost appeared on monitor, the workshop saw no sign of him, only Pitch."

"How so?"

"As I was trying to find sprite-tracker that would work, the globe became surrounded by darkness!" North reenacted, his eyes cast up to the invisible globe above, his body hunched back, and in horror. "The lights faded and soon Fearlings appeared in massive numbers, and surrounded me. But as soon as they'd done so, they escaped, but a shadow appeared after they'd all gone, and made the shape of snowflakes, then it disappeared as well."

"Well, if it's any condolence, the only thing I could get outta Pitch was that he had surprises for us –"

"–Maybe including making shadows pertaining to Jack." Tooth finished.

"But wait 'til you get a load 'a this: after Pitch disappeared, he left that." Bunny pointed near the fireplace to reveal the same etching of the boy, metaphorically losing his innocence.

"That boy…" Tooth murmured. "Looks like Jack, doesn't it?"

"So… let's put all the things we found together, then, eh? Jack was at the workshop, along with Pitch's Fearlings, who were probably sent there cuz he decided he'd hang with me, right? Pitch was here with me, and his Nightmare, apparently – I didn't mention it, so don't go hollerin' at once, but there was a Nightmare there, probably from last night's attack. Jack Frost was born and raised in the same place where those kids were attacked, but, even though we can say – trusting that clunky piece of shit, that is – Jack _was_ at the workshop, we can't say we saw him physically." Bunny purposefully left out his encounter with snowy-haired winter sprite at the tundra, due to the fact that Jack's fearful, skittish attitude was disconcerting, and that he'd let him get away. "So what can we walk away from this? Any guesses? – educated guesses?"

"Well," North started, hands crossed over his belly. "We have concluded our perpetrator – now confirmed as Pitch Black – had either attacked due to the fact that Jack was Guardian, or that Jack was Guardian due to fact that Pitch would be striking again. But seeing as how all of Pitch's actions point directly to Jack, I must conclude that Jack is Pitch's target. All of what he has done was warning as to what he was planning. The snowflakes of darkness to symbolize Jack, the drawing there to symbolize Jack losing all of what Guardians must provide and losing himself to Pitch's darkness, and then attacking his hometown."

"What if Pitch wants to turn him into a Fearling?!" Tooth cried, horror in her voice.

"Well then, it is settled! We will find Jack Frost posthaste!" North raised his scimitar into the air triumphantly, then made for the door, but,

"Wait, wait, wait…" Bunny began. "This is cute and wrapped up in a little package and all, but don't you think this is a little too easy?"

"Eh, easier is better!" North shouted. "Onward we march!"

"But, wai-wai-wait, wait." The Spring Guardian hopped in front of his colleagues, stopping them effectively. "It's not usually the truth then, nimrod. Point is, we still don't know why Jack was at the workshop to begin with."

"Maybe the Fearlings were chasing after him, and he winded up there? I mean… we ended up saying they were after him, right? So that means they wanted to hurt him. Maybe he was trying to escape."

_Maybe he was stealing snow globes._ Bunny thought, though he did not say so, as he himself was very hazy on that last part of remembrance of his encounter with Jack.

"You weren't paying attention, so maybe he was hanging around the workshop when you were working with your machinery, and when the Fearlings came, he ran away? That would explain why they left you alone."

North judged these words, made faces over them, then shrugged. "Is good enough for me! Now enough with the holding up! Let us go find Jack!" Pointing his sword towards the door after pushing his animalistic partner aside, North marched out, followed by the buzz of the hummingbird queen's wings, and the light, silent float of the Sandman's body, whose attempts at wording himself in the conversation had fallen short (but it's not to say he didn't try).

Bunny fell short, lagging behind, confusion and slight betrayal in his eyes – which was not like him at all – but he just felt so raw; the words they'd spoken, _assumed_, about Jack could have easily been so assumable… had they not seen Jack as Bunny did. That boy that he saw might very well have been fearful – could have been hiding from Fearlings and Pitch Black – but if he was truly seeking refuge from North in his workshop? Why would he steal the snow globes from the very man he was trying to stay safe with? Why did he fear Aster? Would he not find the same comfort? If he was truly seeking refuge, seeking help, why would he attack him?

There were far too many questions circling the Guardian of Hope's mind, none of which made any sense, factoring in his personal account with Frost; and all of it could be summed up with one simply complex question: what did it all mean?

* * *

**Post-Script:** As for why the recollection of last night's events were from the perspective of Jack Frost, I can only say this: the boy doesn't have much say, and there are only his thoughts to show insight as to how he feels.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Note from me**: As for the delay of this chapter, I apologize. I do have school, and work gets rough, motivation fades a bit. But I've pulled through it, and now, so much later, I present this especially for those that have continued support of me and who were so patient. I appreaciate your continued help and understanding.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

The winter sprite arrived to Pitch, a look of sheer horror plastered on his young features. He was trembling from the experience, eyes downcast and wide, his hands like a vice grip on his crook. He entered into the planning room, his partner's attention set upon the bronze-clad structure of the Earth. Oh, how the shape had changed after Bunnymund's sculpting! The spring spirit, still only yet a lowly spring spirit, proved his worth just before the dark reign of Pitch Black, having went against his 'smart' judgment to shape the world from an unstable egg-shape to a docile sphere. How the world would have been doomed without the Pooka's integrity…

Pitch smiled in bitter remembrance of the Pookas, and how he repaid Aster's hard work by destroying the rest of his kind. My, he was truly evil, wasn't he? With a cruel smile stretched across his face at the recollection, his mind immersed so much so that he didn't even notice his shaken lover enter.

In such a time, Jack attempted to compose himself; he forced his body to relax, to cease its trembling, and he sighed. "P-Pitch…?" He murmured, standing beside the doorframe. "Can I come in?"

"Oh yes, darling, come, come." He beckoned to the younger male, who hadn't completely let fade the signs of his encounter. "So, lovely, have you done as I asked?"

Jack nodded silently, and from his jacket's center pocket, he produced four small snow globes, and presented them one-by-one to the Nightmare King. He placed them tenderly onto the platform in which the globe was being held up.

"Wonderful, Jack. Just wonderful." He smiled approvingly, took the shoulder opposite of him, and kissed his forehead gently.

"Uh… Pitch… can I ask you something?"

"Of course; anything."

"Why do we have to have four? I thought you'd already dealt with the Easter Bunny." Now, of course, he knew this wasn't true. He knew that Bunnymund was not dealt with, as he had encountered him not even the night earlier, which was when he and Pitch temporarily set their separate ways in order to achieve their separate missions. But if the Master of Darkness did not wish to end the spring spirit, what was his goal?

Pitch chuckled at Jack's questioning, for such a question was quite a logical one. He approached the winter sprite from behind, wrapped both arms around his shoulders, his stomach, and kissed him on his pale cheek, pressing his gray-pale cheek against Jack's, and gave a patronizing whine. "Oh, my dear; it's so understandable, your confusion, and how it brings joy to me to know how loyally you follow me. You see, Jack," He gently spun the white-haired male around, embraced both his shoulders, "The purpose of my visit to the rabbit's den was not to kill him – not yet, anyway – but to startle him, raise alarm; it's all about the timing of your attacks, Jack, that makes the message most clear. Killing Aster now will prove what? That we're barbarians? Murderers? That's not our message. You know clear and well what our message is, and so we must present that with controlled actions and powerful nudges. We have to write our message in action, and we must be very careful of what we say, and how the havoc and carnage reflect that, yes?"

Jack nodded, his eyebrows furrowed in understanding. "So what did you want from him, then?"

"I felt he was best to raise an alarm to; he'd be best to heed a warning to, as he'd take to it with the right… _incentive_." His golden eyes locked with Jack's icy blue as that word passed through his lips, no look of humor to comfort his stern features.

Jack swallowed thickly. There was obviously nothing innocent about the way the darker spirit molded those words, the way his eyes pierced into the younger male's, and suddenly his partner's affectionate touches grew discomforting. "Pitch…?"

He decided on a change of pace. The black spirit smiled, his light tone explaining, "We've been together so long, Jack. So long… I know… know that I've never found comfort in being with another spirit; all life had brought me was hatred and sneering glances. You're different than any of that, Jack. You're a refuge for me as I am for you, and being with you makes me feel… almost whole inside. And I've never felt like this around anyone else before, not from scaring millions of children, certainly not rotting in a cave in god-knows-where, hung to the wall like clothes in the wind, with my clothespin being a _damned crystal knife in my chest_!" He growled in resentment, but sighed, and digressed. His hands gently took one of Jack's, just as it was when they'd first met. He rubbed it a bit with his fingers, allowing himself to relax. "Even the Man in the Moon wanted me confined, like an animal. You've never seen me as such a thing. I'm an equal to you; I'm not an antagonist, as everyone would see at first sight."

Jack gasped softly, eyes confused, flattered, and reflecting melting ice with sympathy. His dark eyebrows knit. " 'Almost whole'?"

The darkling spawn nodded lightly at this. "Almost. I can think of only one way I could truly be whole, with you to melt the ice on my heart, Jack."

"H-How so?" He hesitated, his body rigid with a horrible feeling.

"Make love to me, Jack."

The winter sprite's eyes grew small, his breath hitched; it was as if he was struck by a great force, as he stumbled back a step or two, his lungs winded. His face was twisted in a confused, almost disgusted grimace, one creamy-pale hand embracing his head. "Wh-What… are you asking of me…?" His baritone was choppy, hesitated, and almost afraid.

"I'm asking you to be mine, Jack; we're already so close to being mates anyway, so why not seal the deal, as they say? It's all we need to do to prove our bond with one-another, and it's not as if it wouldn't happen anyway!" He sighed. "Jack… you know I love you, don't you?"

"Well… yes, but…"

"But what, then? What sways you?" As Jack glanced away, Pitch bitterly added, "And now I see your interest would much more favor the ground, wouldn't it?"

The white-haired male winced. "Pitch… it's just sorta… a permanent thing." His face was still arranged in a confused and upset manner as he shrugged, his hands clasping together at the small of his back, his crook visible from his right shoulder.

"Only if I know to love you unconditionally and forevermore, then yes, it will be permanent, but it's not at all as though projecting torture, love; it's the splendiferous bond between two loving sprites, much like you and I."

A lump formed in the younger male's throat. "And if we… _don't_ happen to love each-other after a time?"

"Are you doubting that we will?" Pitch asked squarely, and harshly.

"No! No… I just… it's _permanent_, Pitch. 'Forevermore,' as you've said. What would happen, hypothetically, if we stopped loving each-other or… or if someone was getting hurt, or abused? I've always… wanted to know…"

"Then, by the Man in the Moon himself – who is cause for such permanent bonds between lovers – it would be broken, and the lovers – or rather, once-lovers – would be freed from one-another." He sighed tediously, his gray-pale index and gray-pale thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. "But you don't honestly believe it will come to this, do you?" He murmured in a babying manor, taking both of Jack's hands in his and nuzzling his forehead and nose into his chest, planting small kisses onto it.

"Of course not," The blue-eyed lover sighed. "I'm just… nervous."

"As I'd expect you to be; it's perfectly alright to be afraid." He said as his eyes of molten gold locked with cold ocean-blue. The King's lips parted, one hand embracing the younger male's cheek, the other, gripped tightly around his wrist, yet his kiss was not rough; it was gentle, like the light movement of a butterfly, but not without force, and Jack relinquished himself, his free hand hooking around Pitch's neck, and the kisses grew in intensity, hands searched further and further around the other's body.. The two were a mess of moaning and passion, lips locking, teeth gnashing, gasps, moans, and whimpers of pleasure and lust uttered. "Be mine," He demanded in a passing pant. "Mate with me; mate with me, Jack."

It is a very well-known practice, the mating of one sprite with another. Though not necessarily bonded through the medium of intercourse, it is very often how most supernatural entities find themselves mated to one-another. The bond formed from this process is a very strong one; one's power is the other's, one's location is now known by the other's. Most of all, one must provide for the other, and love the other, and find harmony with the other. Otherwise, the bond fails.

Jack made a soft groan, his eyebrows furrowed, savoring the taste of his lover's lips, processing the idea of spending the rest of his life with the man that had filled it with joy and recognition. Oh, how selfish he would be should be say no! No, he would not like to bond with the man that saved him? No, he would crush his working partner's heart? No, he would give his lover so much happiness and suddenly and harshly deny him? He would do no such thing, for what he bore greatly into consideration also coupled with a strong grip of fear. His affairs were with a powerful darkling entity, and, whilst it had its merits, it also hosted a great deal of worries. Refusal of such an offer could get him killed.

Though, this was one of Jack's lesser worries; he did not fear Pitch's wrath, but knew nonetheless that a debt must be paid. After all, the man before him saved him an eternity of solitude and aimless wandering without a soul or voice to embrace him, so an eternity was duly indebted. Jack owed Pitch his life, so it would be his life that he would surrender to the man, would that not be so?

He steadied Pitch's feverish features, embracing an ashen cheek in each hand, his eyes smiling upon the liquid gold, warm and mature. "I'll be yours, Pitch; I'll be yours forever." He conceded softly, his icy breath ghosting along his lover's smooth face.

Pitch smiled, a devil behind his teeth. He was a master a grooming this young boy; just a little bit more effort and he'd be a slave to Pitch Black's cruel design. He began tracing kisses over Jack's cheek, his lips, neck, shoulders, his eyes occasionally glancing up at the sound of a low moan, or when Jack's body would go stiff, and eye contact alone would relieve him.

Jack sighed contentedly. "Baby… what are you planning for me…?"

Another devilish smile, hidden by the angle his head dipped into Jack's cornflower jacket. "I hope you don't mind if I'm a bit of an experiment today, darling; I never truly liked… the traditional methods." He chuckled lowly.

"I suppose not… just don't stick hurting me into your '_experimental_' nature, please."

"It can and will be done." His fingertips keened at the hem of Jack's brown pants, and with a deep sigh from its owner, it was swiftly removed. Jack, above, removed his frost-encrusted jacket, and then the white shirt he'd woken up with, his glassy skin beginning to stain red in embarrassment. The Nightmare King's black form straightened, eyes bright and tainted as he pressed his lips against Jack's neck, down his chest, stomach, leaving small nips, flowering small bruises as he went. Lower his lips moved, the blood beginning to blush over the winter sprite's white features, and soon he was bright red in the face.

After Pitch's wild indulgence, his experiment began. He stepped away from the ever-reddening form, hands crossed thereafter behind his back. His eyes were expectant, the inky shadows beneath his body began to swell and whips of darkness sprang forth from the restrictive second dimension, breaking into the third and approaching the younger male, whose eyes grew small and he stepped back a pace before his eyes met up to Pitch's, and the gray-skinned male smiled a warm smile. He mouthed the words 'It will be okay,' before Jack finally relaxed, and relinquished himself to the slender shadows approaching him. They wrapped around his bare legs, arms, squeezing dances of tightening and loosening, tightening and loosening around his muscles like a snake in a coil.

"Do you like it?" Pitch's smile still held its undutiful intentions, and he paced a circle around Jack, marveling his pearl-colored body, his black restraints, and his cool complexion. He was not afraid; embarrassed, certainly, but not afraid.

"It's… different, I'll give it that. I'm hoping that we can still mate, though."

"We'll get to the gooey intimacies at a later moment, Jack. For now, we enjoy the… _little touches_ this experiment has to offer." From this proposal, another whip of darkness shot forward, setting itself between the hem of the winter sprite's boxers, and his cool skin. Jack gasped, eyes glazing over before sliding shut at the feeling, the darkling extension worming itself further down Jack's abdomen.

Certainly, an event like this was not a necessity in terms of mating, but it did help establish a false sense of trust between them. The darkness squeezed tightly around the teenager's length, and he moaned, writhing subtly under the feeling, his muscles aching under the tension of the remaining darkness.

Pitch Black approached closer, was nearly an inch between his nose and the pasty white, streams of darkness still continuing to split and multiply around him, and assaulting Jack, restraining his arms, legs, running against his length, nipples, and Jack panted out a taxed breath. Never had he truly felt something like this before, and it was almost too much for him to bear. The darkling master wrapped two fingers to pinch the white-haired male's chin, pressed his lips roughly, passionately against his. His hands snaked down the restrained, younger male's arms, gripping his fingers before allowing them to slip away, traveling lower, lower.

His lips traveled down onto Jack's neck, his bare pectorals, but never dared to reach as low as his hands were moving, then. By then, his fingers had wrapped around Jack's length, and he whined at the feeling, one dark vine hovering in wait. "Wh…When are we supposed to mate…?" He murmured, a throw-away sentence.

But the Dark Lord sighed, stepped back a step, ceasing all movements and releasing the boy. "You'll feel a connection to me, Jack. Why do you ask? Is the pleasure too… direct? Because we don't have to do it; we can still mate without it."

"No, no! It's just… I never did this before; I don't know what to expect." He smiled sheepishly.

"You can tell me to stop whenever you'd like, darling." Pitch gave a small smile to the younger male, moving closer, his whips of darkness continuing their motions, except for the four vines which had restrained the thin winter spirit; they ceased their motions permanently. The older sprite secured Jack's body with his slender fingers gripped tightly around his shoulders. He pressed his form flush against the white-haired male's light frame, all unused streams of darkness pulsing in wavelengths in response to the stimulus, and Pitch groaned, Jack gasping beneath him. Jack flushed in response; after all, he was bare naked before his lover, who was cloaked in clothes of pure dark energy. So, in that retrospect, Pitch, too, was naked. The teenager gripped onto that small solace as his slender partner above him kissed and pecked and gripped at Jack's form, the single rope of blackness snaking down lower, stopping just before Jack's anus – preserving the small sense of the innocence Jack had left – before thrusting itself in, thereby shattering those presumptions of a sweet, sexually-timid boy.

He screamed, heavy and needy, eyes squeezing shut at the overwhelming feeling. His knees buckled, arms reaching out to grip Pitch's shoulders for support. The dark spirit grinned, the darkness continuing to thrust itself in and out of Jack's body. He sighed, his body beginning to glow in a faint blue light, frost escaping from around his form, crystallizing the water vapor around him. This is the sign that Pitch Black was looking for; this energy was mating energy, released from love, bonding… though pleasure could easily feign this feeling.

Swirls of darkness began to emit themselves from the Nightmare King, beginning to encircle around and mix with the bitterly cold air as their motions advanced, quickened, hastened with need. Pitch Black, though unable to enter the boy with his own body, compensated this fact by having his uses of darkness accompany him and, since they were an extension of himself, he felt all the pleasures of it.

Time seemed to be of no value as the heat of their moment ate away at their tensions, their sense-of-mind. Jack, whilst for the most part having trouble keeping himself up, fed Pitch's indulgence with an array of high whines and low, needy groans. Pitch supplied his lover with thin bites, thick kisses, and much groping all about his body.

Finally, the vine of black thrust into a spot so perfect; Jack loosed a wail, his knees losing their battle to stay straight. His arms shot out to grip his lover's shoulders as deeper, faster, rougher and needier the darkness – and Dark Master – grew. As he rose again, Pitch traveled lower, his lips quirking a grin before parting, and surrounding the pasty appendage far beneath icy blue eyes. His gray-pink tongue scooped an experimental lick around it, waited for Jack's initial shudder to pass, and continued again. After the younger male's body ultimately ceased its shake from the initial burst of pleasure, Pitch's warm, black mouth consumed the alabaster skin, and soon released it, repeating the process until he was able to relay a long, metronomic bobbing motion, sending snaps of pleasure along the winter sprite's body and nerves.

Around them, the darkness and frost grew larger and larger, swirling a mix of black and ice into a dome surrounding them, wavelengths of energy keeping the solid shield active and flowing. They were reaching their high.

Jack, far more the neophyte, caved first. His body and breath hitched, then screamed, his body stiffened, then altogether lightened and relaxed as a wave of pleasure washed over him, his length ejaculating genetic material into the Nightmare King's mouth – still open – which had a pleasantly cold feeling as it escaped down his throat. The ice and cool surrounding the two seemed to brighten at Jack's high, and shortly thereafter, the darkness swelled, pulsated, and settled, as Pitch Black had reached his own peak. Although, his reaction was a far tamer, yet heavy, sigh.

Surrounding them was still the dome, as pitch black and frost mixed and swirled around them; the seemingly-impenetrable shield, once solid and smooth, now began to stream small snowflakes and frost, and swirls and twists of darkness. The frost and snow presented itself to Pitch Black, the black wisps, to Jack Frost.

They were asking the respective partners a question: if they wanted to mate with the other, or not. Silently, Pitch quickly concurred; however, Jack had the smallest amount of hesitation, and quickly scanned over any doubts. Dismissing these, for fear of Pitch's impatience towards his fluctuation, he finally acquiesced.

The dome began to undo itself, swirling apart, almost an exact reverse of how it was created; instead of energy flowing out of Jack and Pitch to create it, it was flowing back apart, although now the immaculate frost entered the very maculate form of the Nightmare King, his indomitable darkness entering in graceful, light, deceitful swirls to Jack's body.

It was an overwhelming experience, no doubt, and both were victim to the effect of mating; both lay gasping after the ritual concluded, yet Jack found himself unable to do much else but quell his sudden and urgent need to throw his arms around his new mate, caress him, and cry; although, he was not sure what he was crying for: excitement, relief… or sadness. For better or worse, they were bound, forever to one-another, never to love another spirit.

* * *

And Bunny could no longer take the constant back-and-forth gabbing between what _could have _happened at Santa's Workshop. Damnit, he _knew_ already what had happened at the workshop; and although he could not particularly tell _why_ Jack Frost entered it, he knew that a) Jack stole the snow globes and b) he ran away from the Guardians, nonetheless. Perhaps it _was_ from fear of Pitch Black, perhaps Fearlings _were_ chasing him, but it all seemed just too… too _easy_.

He could be silenced no longer on the matter. He stepped in front of his fellow colleagues. "Do we… Do we-we… we, by any chance, know where to start looking?" He asked in his usual sneer.

All motions ceased, and the face then reflected by North was almost as though he was frozen solid whilst about to sneeze. "Ha…?" He hesitated – froze – then dug his scimitar into the ground, his hands resting their weight on it. "We… do not."

"I'd suggest the Pennsylvania town!" Tooth chimed, "After all, it's where Jack was born, and where he stayed when he was helping children!"

"_Was_," Aster pointed out. "When he once helped children, he worked in his hometown. That's all out the window."

"Humph!" Tooth pouted defiantly, hands on her feather-coated hips. "Then where do you suggest, Bun?"

The area where he'd found Jack was very cold. North or South Pole, for certain. Although, he didn't seem to see the workshop anywhere near as he was chasing the boy, and he seemed to notice… penguins. Many many penguins, and glaciers. He mulled over the thought, paw encompassing his furry chin. "Antarctica." He concluded with an almost certainty. "We'll start there."


	7. Chapter 7

**A Note from me:** After a long delay, I hope you all like this chapter; it's very pivotal, I'll tell you that. Please enjoy, and I apologize for the long delay.

* * *

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Antarctica. Like a sponge-filled landscape covered lightly over with fondant, gumdrops and frosting for decoration and accessories of trees and bleak wilderness, and powdered sugar blowing harshly past with a howl. It was a bad time to be a barefoot rabbit.

However, he could be the only one to complain about the conditions presented. North, always having lived in such an area, was well-dressed for the cold, his clothes wrapping snugly around him in a thick blanket of warmth. Toothiana's wings beat so rapidly, her heartbeat so fast, her blood flow alone was enough to keep her warm. Sandy cloaked himself in many layers of dream sand, keeping him snuggled just so. Bunny, however, had nothing to keep him warm; he kept himself bare-back for agility and stealth, but he was certainly no winter rabbit. His fur was practically useless in these frigid conditions.

"Oh, Bunny!" North chuckled heartily. "This is not part where you turn white and can withstand cold from such transformation?"

The Guardian of Hope was in no mood for these games; he glared at the jolly Christmas spirit in his usual sneering manner. "First of all, a rabbit's color change in the winter _doesn't_ grow it extra resistance to the cold, it only lets it blend in better with the environment to avoid predators. And secondly, I live in _Australia_, ya oversized Christmas ornament, so no, I'm not adapted to the cold. Not in the least." He crossed his arms, rubbed them for warmth.

North backed off, realizing, then, the apparent 'harshness' of Bunny's claims. "Okay, okay. You are not used to cold. I will remember that next time."

"So, Bun, where to?" Tooth asked gently, wings beating twice as fast to conserve warmth within her. Truly, everyone was awaiting Bunny's word; he was the one with the strong sense of smell, the ability to perceive – he'd be able to sense Pitch, one whose scent was known, and also the 'foreign' scent that could be Jack Frost. And also, on a smaller scale, he _was_ the one who wanted to come to Antarctica initially.

He just finished a "Not sure," before a particular breeze blew past, and, with it, was a very faint scent. It was light, peppery, minty… and cold. _Jack Frost_. "Wait… think I'm gettin' something." He murmured, though he could not say much more; first and foremost, there are many peppery, cold smells – Nicholas St. North, for example, secretes such a scent – and secondly, he could not outright reveal how he knew this smell was akin to Jack Frost. He could not tell his fellow Guardians that he'd found and followed Jack, unsuccessfully trying to convince him to relinquish his wanderings and come join the Guardians. He couldn't tell them even that, as the winter sprite had escaped before he could get a word in edgewise. Well, he'd _attempted_ to converse, but Jack was very tightly wound, afraid, confined. The boy'd said less than ten words, all under the idea of establishing himself as some tough spirit, but Bunny knew too well already that he was afraid. After he'd tried to flee, he said nothing else before knocking Aster out, and leaving. He couldn't tell them that.

"What is it you are getting?" North inquired, duly noted by a snowflake appearing over Sandy's head, with question marks surrounding it.

"I don't… don't know whose scent it is… but it's definitely a winter sprite's scent." What he said wasn't necessarily a lie. His eyes cast out to the far and expansive prairies of snow, but the blue scent trail was visible to his nostrils. "C'mon, follow up if you can." His gray lips perked up in a small, sly grin, his powerful back legs kicked forward, propelling him in a low, long hop, mists of powdery snow flinging up as he landed, with the indents of his great paws as the only marker that he was even there.

The remaining three Guardians looked amongst each-other, a thought crossing all their minds as of what to do next. North shrugged, then drew out his scimitar. "You heard the man!" He pointed it outward. "Onward we march!" And a booming laugh later, the three continued on, with Bunny at the lead (North dragging behind, as he was only a humanoid spirit, so he could not fly).

And the bunny was determined. He knew. He _knew _that it would be Jack this time, and he _knew_ he wouldn't allow the boy to throw a cheap shot like that again.

* * *

However, Jack knew nothing of the Guardians' arrival. He always seemed to be out-of-the-loop in these affairs, and this was certainly no exception.

And, as per the norm of this twisted tale, Pitch knew full and well of the arrival. His darkling spawn patrolled every ounce of shadow surrounding the icy castle; one must have simply picked up on the protruding shadows of the Big Four, and reported it promptly to the Nightmare King. He did not seem as upset as he was when Jack himself was found to be a Guardian, as he now had a plan; Jack was his – his lover, mate… eternally loyal to him; there would be sneaks and trickery to get around all of this, and such trickery was already made up in his mind. Golden eyes gleaming, he simply smirked, intentions only known to himself. He paid a silent nod to the Man in the Moon before whispering, almost to himself (though he knew the presence would be able to hear), "And you're ready to see your Guardians fail…? It's about time you see the error of your ways." He chuckled lowly, allowing the darkness of his cloak to flourish before allowing himself to exit to his mate.

He smoothed his hands over the ice spirit's shoulders. "Darling, how are you?"

Jack smiled. "I'm fine, surprisingly; I feel…"

"Free?"

The white-haired male turned around gently, wrapped his arms around the base of Pitch's hair. "I feel so much better when I'm next to you."

The darkling master placed a small kiss on the young sprite's lips. "Well…" He trailed off with uncertainty, a furrow of his brows creasing his forehead; he looked troubled. He bit his lower lip, eyes no longer meeting the ocean blue, and he stepped away. "Jack… one of my Fearlings detected… trouble. Then another, then another… and I can no longer deny that you are no longer safe."

Jack's expression transformed instantly; it melted from warm joy to cold fear, his ocean eyes hardening to ice, the pink flush on his face receding, his bright smile softening to parted lips, as if to question, but frozen, without a question to speak. "Pitch…?" Was all that would emit from his throat. Although he was, yes, afraid of the implications of his and his lover's imminent danger, but also he was now informed that Pitch Black might have noticed his own actions earlier… his escape from the Easter Bunny's grasp. He had been intent and dependent upon the idea that Pitch had known nothing, and now, perhaps he did. But if he had, why did he let the subject fall through? Why make love one who held back his tongue on something so vital? Perhaps it was because he'd held his tongue for so much more… Jack's face began to flush – beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow – at the thought.

"The Guardians have found us, Jack. They've finally made their way to Antarctica, and they want to take you away from me." But of course, Pitch knew exactly what had transpired the previous day, but only now he let it show. "What I don't understand is… how could they have known we were here…?" He asked, an accusatory tone to his dark voice.

Jack swallowed thickly, tears of panic beginning to form in his innocent blue eyes. He was being treated as though a criminal – black, white, and barred. "I… Pitch, I… I'm sorry… He came up behind me, and I was so, so scared. I hit him, and I ran, and he caught up to me and… I… I made sure to knock him out, though! I…" He sobbed. "I'm sorry…!"

Pitch took the boy in his arms, held him tight, and hushed him. "I forgive you, darling; just relax. Breathe. No matter if he'd found you or not, he found his way here. And whether it is that he came here with the other Guardians because he found you or not, they're here now, and they want to take you from me, no matter what the means are, they want to tear you from me to hurt me. They'll rub the salt down worse if they find out we're mated…" He pet through the pale spirit's white, tousled hair. "I can't let them take you from me, Jack. All of this is about _you_; you have to hide."

"They're going to hurt you…" He murmured softly, fear ghosting hot and ragged through his white lips.

"That doesn't matter; what matters to me is your safety. That is my utmost priority, now and henceforth. I don't care what happens to myself, what kind of damage I'll sustain. I don't care if they haul me in for interrogation or murder me on the spot. They want you, and I'll do whatever I have to in order to make sure they don't get to you."

Panic had begun to set into the winter spirit's cold stomach. He took Pitch by his dark cloak in both white hands, eyes small, tear-soaked. "Please, Pitch! If this… If this is about me, let them take me! Just… don't let yourself get hurt…"

Gray-pale fingers wrapped around the white, and he hushed him, one hand bringing the youth's head onto his chest. "If this is about you, Jackson, I want to make sure you'll be safe the most. I want to protect you, and giving them what they want will make it so you'll be forever lost to me. Give into them, and you'll be forced to assimilate with them, forced to believe I am your enemy, live among those who you hate. Hide, and there's a chance I will live. There's a chance they will show me mercy, or even that I will defeat them, and we can be together." He kissed Jack's forehead. "Do you understand? I'm doing this to protect you." Protect him from their influence, surely. The true reason for Pitch's kind actions were obvious to anyone but the winter sprite. It was to keep Jack loyal to him, and safe from those wretched Guardians. He pressed another kiss, wiped the tears from Jack's eyes, hushed him softly. "You have to hide yourself now. Not even in this castle. Elsewhere. They will be able to find you in here."

"At least… At least let me stay here…! Please, I can't… won't be able to bear not knowing if you're safe."

"That's not up to debate, Jack." Pitch bit out with a snip of harshness. "If one finds you, and I'm preoccupied with another – there's four of them, you know – then there will be nothing I can do to help you. Jack, please… for my sake, get away from here…"

Jack's blue eyes searched around the liquid amber for any sign of anything else, _any way_ they could escape this without danger coming to them. He found none; instead, his eyes met disappointment, sadness, and fear. Though really, this was feigned; the King of Darkness had become so accustom to becoming a harbinger of fear, easily, he was able to form false fear on his own features, sadness, hurt. Though he felt nothing of it; he could no longer feel fear snap his throat shut, nor tears to drip from his golden eyes, nor his form pricking with the sting of disappointment. But he could surely portray it. And Jack fell as the hapless victim of his charade. He sighed, tears caught in his throat. "O-Okay…" He murmured, knotting his fingers into the darkness of Pitch's clothes, bent his head up, and met gray lips to kiss them.

Pitch Black allowed the boy to slip away, trusting that his influence on him would deliver the exact verdict he had imagined he could impose on him: for Jack to run far away, and hide, and that he would return to his mate after everything was said and done. No doubt that all four buffoons were counting on the Easter Bunny's scent – who he figured had, by then, gotten Jack's scent – to lead them to this castle, now laced with that cold smell.

But, even with Pitch's intimidation, injections of guilt, sweet words, and concerned expressions, Jack couldn't truly hide himself away from his lover. As he slipped away from Pitch's presence, he allowed himself to hide in a nearby closet, dark from the absence of windows.

Pitch cooled his expression, chuckled to himself at the thought of such barbarianism from the Guardians; the _Guardians_, interrogating and possibly killing anyone? Pitch was overcome by this thought; Jack really did not know much, did he? Or was he just willing to believe whatever spewed from the Nightmare King's lips? He must not know what the Guardians had done to Pitch during the Dark Ages, must have over-fantasized it into a fantastic tale of protagonist and antagonist, darkness and light, good and bad, black and white.

Poor fool.

He sighed in acceptance. He felt the extensions of himself, his Fearlings, sense presences, four presences, approaching the ice castle. He allowed himself to be surrounded by his minions, and his one Nightmare. He stroked the darkness of her fur as, from behind the frigid doors, the Guardians were.

Hastily, irritably, the Easter Bunny thrust the doors open with a powerful kick, only to find the primary source of his objective was not there. Instead, there was a gray-pale man, tall and slender, clad in shadows. It was Pitch Black; Jack Frost was nowhere to be seen. And this simply frustrated Aster all the much more. "Where is he?" The great ashen rabbit asked, a sharp edge to his tone.

"So you got my clues after all." A slow clap from the Nightmare King. "I'm proud you even made it this far."

"I'm not _up_ for games, Pitch." Aster growled. "_Where is he_?"

The man in dark looked around, not meeting the Four's eyes. "Gone; I've… _dealt_ with him." His chuckle darkened, now malicious and horrible, and almost uncontrollable.

The expression amongst the Guardians changed dramatically at this; although, of course, only Pitch knew that he hadn't killed the boy. Theatrics had always been everything to him. Bunny's eyes narrowed, teeth and fists clenched. "You sick bastard… What the hell did you do…?!"

Pitch tsked, embracing his forehead with his hand. "I don't like repeating myself, rabbit."

"You will relinquish how you have dealt with Frost." North demanded in his great, booming tone, scimitar aimed to the gray-skinned male. Sandy cracked his knuckles silently (or perhaps they simply were not strained enough to crack), and Tooth readied her fists, razor-sharp wings beating rapidly.

"You know Jack and I made this…?" He let his hands around the lengths of the room. "Darkness and ice. So beautiful, isn't it?"

"You fought him?" Bunny's eyes widened in surprise, anger.

Another awful laugh; he began to pace slowly, yet without menace. "Perhaps. Perhaps I did carve out a home myself out of the boy's defeat because I'm just _that_ twisted. Perhaps I killed him thereafter, while he was weak and on his knees, so lost, so lonely, begging. Perhaps his body's lying amongst the miles upon miles of snow, or perhaps even his carcass dissolved among it – he's a winter spirit, after all – forever lost, never to be found, never to be confirmed dead. Never to have that answer." His chuckle faded. "Or… perhaps he's alive. Perhaps I've never even threatened the boy's life for an instant. Perhaps I had, and he escaped." His voice grew satirical. "Oh, perhaps we even befriended each-other and have made some convoluted ploy to confound you." Serious again, he continued, "Perhaps he _isn't even here_. He could be in the North Pole, perhaps Alaska or even Russia. You simply _don't know_, now do you? After all…" He snickered again, arms folded behind his back; his pacing stopped. "This is all hypothetical."

This had all begun to irritate one rabbit all too much. His paws had clenched his head by each temple. He sighed heavily, strenuously. "Well, I'm done with your hypothetical shit. I'll find out one way…" He drew from his leather sash one of his enchanted boomerangs. "Or _another_!" Aster thrust the boomerang from his fingers, and it arced towards the Nightmare King in a swift and centripetal manner.

Pitch smirked, his body dissolving into blackness, the Nightmare neighing defensively as it galloped into the Antarctic day. The boomerang passed through his receding King's form, and destroyed a few Fearlings who were caught unawares. The remaining were a flurry of hisses and claws, spouts of darkness targeted towards the Guardians; and soon, the dark creatures surrounded dream maker, memory preserver, spring harbinger, and fierce toy maker.

Tooth set herself upon the floor, wings still buzzing dangerously, and she spun herself among the crowd of black, decimating them as her bright wings sliced through them. Sandy's dream whips adapted into lassos and various other rope-like objects, corralling the Fearlings in large groups. North wasted no time in shouting heartily, fiercely chopping down the creatures as though they were obstacles of shrubs to a lost explorer.

And E. Aster had his sights not on the Fearlings, or even the Nightmare horse, but Pitch Black. His emerald eyes were dark like moonlit forests, searching this way and that for the hiding black spirit.

Pitch resurfaced, attempted to even leave the room, as it began to swell in multiplying masses of Fearlings. "Gotcha…" The Australian spirit whispered softly, readying an egg bomb to the darkling antagonist.

As it was tossed, Pitch spun around, unaware of his spotting, but was fractionally able to avoid the bomb, allowing it to detonate on a nearby wall, exposing that blast radius to the outside sun and snow.

"You hurt that boy, you bloomin' _coward_!" Aster hissed, approaching Pitch, seething vengeance in his now-dark eyes.

Pitch, on the other hand, gave a bemused chuckle. "It's all hypothetical, dear Aster."

"It was only yesterday I'd seen him: scared, nervous, almost paralyzed in fear. He hardly said a word t' me before he tried to run away from me. He'd been so unaccustomed t' interaction, he thought one meant he'd be in trouble. He attacked me only yesterday – _saved my life_ only yesterday!" Pitch's expression faltered a moment. Was Jack really so weak as to not be able to eliminate an enemy, when his direct order was to do just so…? "Only _yesterday_, goddamn it, so tell me where he is!"

After that small distraction, the King quickly regained his smug expression. "I'd much rather we fight – as fights do transpire in these sorts of circumstances, do they not? – but I find it amusing that you haven't attempted to dash right into the fray; after all, you _usually do_ cause the most damage to those who oppose you. Unless…" He gasped dramatically. "Jack has taken your interest!" He allowed his gray fingers to dance on his lips. "Do you… _fancy _the boy?"

Aster's fierce expression was quickly replaced with… embarrassment. Embarrassment from perhaps such a ludicrous statement, perhaps from the stinging truth of it all. Either way, he squeezed his eyes shut in a sharp blink, his fierceness reacting with such embarrassment, transforming into fury. "Just shut _up_!" The second of two boomerangs was tossed, and this one was able to clip the unsuspecting gray spirit in his shoulder. Pitch hissed out in pain, a few of his minions noticing, rushing to help, as he let loose a blast of darkness. It was able to hit Bunny in his knee. Tooth moved to aid the spring spirit in his battle, but Aster shouted, clenching his wound, "_No_! He's my battle! I have to beat him! _I_ have to fight him myself! Bastard terrorized that boy, and he's gonna get his own for it."

"Oh… okay…" She murmured, confused, before resuming her battle with the Nightmare King's loyal henchmen.

Aster's boomerangs returned to him, glowing green with a natural power, tossing them with enough force to slice into gray-pale flesh, blood replaced with ink spilling out from his wounds. He cried out, both arms having been cut, making it painful to move them. He whimpered, having previously believed he was no longer able to feel pain, as he was now assaulted with three egg bombs, smashing his thin frame against an ice wall.

Meanwhile, Jack had been quietly unaware of the words transpired in all the chaos. Despite hearing the hisses of Fearlings, battle cries of the Guardians, he stayed put. But soon upon his ears was a bone-crushing shatter, a sickening crunch. He could dawdle no longer. Tentatively, and with staff of cold gripped tightly in both hands, he stepped out, bare feet padding lightly against the dark-and-ice floor. He hesitated at the doorway; one step closer, and he'd be one frosted wall, one room, away from witnessing the carnage. His feet would not move, his body unable to be budged.

Until he heard a cry. It was unlike any sound he'd ever heard. It was truly pained, truly horrible, and truly Pitch Black's. His eyes grew small in fear, panic washing over him.

He pushed open the door, rushed through the remaining room – where he could see the distorted pattern of brutality, of fighting, of – as Pitch had called it – _war_. So small-scale now, but who was to say it would not escalate? But that was not what mattered to the young winter spirit. He vaguely noticed the crystalline indent in the wall, crunched-in from a powerful impact.

Jack opened the second door, staff ready, and, initially, he was not noticed. He gazed around the room – around the ink-stains of demolished Fearlings, of fallen feathers, of ruptured dream sand, and among it, in an ever-widening pool of black, collapsed against an impacted ice wall, was Pitch – _his_ Pitch, his mate, his love – nearly unconscious or perhaps nearly dead.

Over him, loomed a great figure, panting, cloaked in ashen fur, patterned in charcoal. A leather sash was slung across his chest, down to his hip. His bombs were expended, his boomerangs gripped tightly in both hands. A glitter of liquid amber appeared on the dark spirit; his eyes opened to the sight of his foe. "Still alive, are ya?" Aster gripped the disoriented spirit by the lapels of his shadowy cloak. "Tell me where Jack Frost is _right now_, or so help me, I will rip that black heart right out 'a your chest!" And the weakened spirit simply laughed weakly. It was a patronizing laugh, just as Pitch would emit, now with ink-stains dripping from his lips. "Where is he?!"

"I'm right here!" The young spirit cried, cold eyes blazing into a pool of ocean-blue; his staff was raised, shot a blast of white-blue winter energy at the spring spirit, knocking him far and away from the weakened, barely-conscious spirit. The Easter Bunny impacted the adjacent wall, fell forward onto his hands and knees.

"Bunny!" Tooth cried, rushing over to him, gently placing a hand on his back.

"All of you! Get away from him!" Jack cried fiercely. "_Get away_!" His staff began to glow again, roaring to life as the icy energy inside of it was released; sharp gusts of wind, accompanied with a flurry of snow and sleet, flushed out the floor in a growing expanse as the Guardians within the area – as well as so many Fearlings – were buried. He thrust his staff out, and the contents of snow were forced out the windows and door, scattered into the sky for miles. The Guardians failed to get a word in edgewise.

Jack sighed thereafter, waited a few moments to let the reality sink in that his enemies were truly gone, and they were. His enemies were _far_ gone; his body was exhausted from the extent of power he had released. His body was trembling, weak, but he wasn't even focused on himself. _Pitch_ was the only thought on his mind, and he turned around to find his mated spirit still very weak, still bleeding. Jack sat down beside his lover, worry widening his blue eyes. "Pitch? Pitch, are you okay? Baby, please… please just say something…"

And there was silence, the Nightmare spirit's body limp, quiet. Jack's eyebrows furrowed, breath hitched, tears beginning to run down his eyes. But finally, "Jack…" whispered quietly, breaking the veil of silence. "I'd told you to leave…"

Relief washed over his features. "I know; I know, but," He sniffled, "They were going to kill you. I knew they were – or at least that something terrible was going to happen – and I… I couldn't leave you."

"You warded them off…? You-You saved me…?"

"Why wouldn't I? They were… He was… He…" Jack gasped, overcome with emotion, and sobbed into Pitch Black's chest.

He hushed the boy. "No… it's okay…" But it was not. Pitch had not at all anticipated that the boy would disobey his orders, keep himself here. He hadn't anticipated that Jack would reveal his alliance to him. His main idea for Jack to covertly assimilate himself with the Guardians and destroy them from within was shattered. He chuckled weakly, nuzzled himself against Jack's hair, as his arms were effectively useless for the time being. Jack's icy-blue eyes rose and leveled with the liquid gold. Pitch gently pressed a kiss to Jack's lips in a long, slow kiss.

It was no matter. He hadn't realized Jack's extensive power, and this in itself could be useful. They didn't need covert tactics to instill worldwide fear after all. He simply needed covert tactics for the events afterwards. They were exposed, but who would care?

* * *

Of course, the Guardians, now scattered among the Antarctic, cared very much. They found each-other four hours later, decided to return to North's workshop, deciding also, through stress and tension, not to speak a word about their battle. "This is… far from what I had expected…" North finally murmured, first to have spoken in those four hours. "We had suspected he was terrorized, or perhaps afraid."

"Not… _associated_ with that scum! How the hell did we let that happen, huh?! How the hell could we let him think Pitch would be his friend? How the hell did _Pitch_ convince him of that?!"

"Bunny, please, calm down…"

"How can I calm down?! We should have been there for Jack! We should have helped him, not leave him in the dirt! And we… we didn't… and now he's with Pitch. Now he threw us about half-a-mile from his and Pitch's home because he cares about _him_ far more than us." He hissed out a strained sigh, and abruptly departed from the room.

"Well… yes." Was all North has managed before Bunny had dismissed himself. Tooth buzzed forward a few paces before Sandy held her back, shook his head slowly. He wanted to be alone. The remaining three Guardians gathered around, finding it best to continue their plans without him.

And Aster was left alone with his thoughts now; one will always know that is never the best thing. He thumped the ground twice, returning to his warren, equipped himself with more egg bombs, and now rope in the form of a lasso, a grave mission in mind.

He would return to the castle, and was in no mood for negotiation.


End file.
